Beyond the Mirror
by NikaKrae
Summary: Samael & Merrill are back, the story continues. This is the second story.
1. Chapter 1

"The Templaaaars sometimes come here, you knooow. The bloodstains take just weeks… to… clean up." Xenon's rusty and deliberate voice echoed in the small dark room that was filled with dusty boxes, vitrines, chests and several things Samael didn't want to know what they were.

"Just get to the point, you over-aged carcass!" Samael snorted, impatient to get out of this smelly Undercity.

"Watch your tongue, lad! Hmpf, grhc, argh! Don't you forget who took care of your growing wealth and who persuaded the Orzammar Carta to do business with you!" Xenon stirred and pointed his mummy-like index finger at Samael.

"Very creepy, old man!" Samael sneered, but bowed, like the point taken. "So do you have what I've requested?"

Xenon's dark cackling inflicted goose bumps on Samael's skin. "Indeed I have what you seek, young master Hawke." Samael didn't like the cunning glance Xenon shot at him, but waited patiently for the presentation this time.

"Thaddeus! Where's that impetuous urchin, when a greybeard needs him?…" Xenon ended his yelling with murmuring to himself. The boy came running and halted in a stiff pose in front of Xenon's impressive armchair.

"Naughty urchin! Bring that package that the golem is guarding. A very precious sylvanwood, hardened to diamond firmness. You've requested electricity, drake scales alongside the whole staff, the core is the pure lyrium you brought me, the staff head is hiding the rarest elven crystals coated in blood of a High Dragon. I intended to let the splendid crystals to be seen, but the glare was so dazzling, the urchins had to partially hide it. Now where's my gold, lad?" Xenon's voice quivered with greed and his nasty palms opened with surprising velocity.

"Not so fast, coffin-dodger! What about… that… last part we've talked about?" Samael folded his arms and arched an eyebrow. He still couldn't believe he had insisted this powerful staff would fuel the blood magic.

"Ah, young warrior. My memory serves me still well. Hmpf, grc, eergh. The last part explains why the staff is so… valuable." Xenon squirmed, avoiding the money topic with his agile tongue.

"How much?" Samael went straight to the point, not fooled by the Xenon's dodging.

"Four." Xenon coughed up.

"Four what?" Samael blinked.

"Four hundred sovereigns," Xenon mumbled, looking elsewhere, scratching his chin. He stopped that when a piece of chin stuck to his gaunt finger.

"Are you out of your mind, you imperishable grandpa? I'm not a money factory, you skinflint!" Samael shouted, throwing his arms in the air. "All right, lately, maybe I could even say that, but still… that's a lot of money, Xenon. The staff had better be worth that much coin, or I'll come back and stick it right through your desiccated ass!"

Xenon frowned and rattled something about ungrateful lads and their hollow threats. Samael interrupted him, knowing how he could please the grumpy proprietor.

"I'll send a courier tonight to deliver the gold, Xenon." The old man lit up immediately and rubbed his crunchy hands.

"You are my loyal customer and it's so rare to have company. Well, living company, at any rate. So, look around and choose something small free of charge, you eternal complainer. Then get out, if you don't wish to witness my every-day-ointment-application." Xenon finished his wheezing, peering at the urchin with a lewd expression. The urchin gulped.

"How should I know what to choose here in this mess? I can't make heads or tails of it!" Samael spread his arms out gesturing towards the disorder around.

"Humpf! There's a perfect order here, you just don't understand it, lad." Xenon snorted, and called the urchin again, whispering something to him briefly. The urchin went skittering around the room for a minute, then he brought a little dusty wooden box, handing it to Samael.

Hesitating, Samael opened the box, half-expecting Xenon's fallen-off finger or something. He was surprised when he saw two smooth black rings. Each of them had a common small grey stone. There were delicate carvings inside the ring girth, but Samael couldn't read them in the dim light.

"They are called the Lover's Doom. I guess you will find somebody to give the ring to and keep the other one for yourself. Or am I mistaken?" Again, Samael shivered under the Xenon's knowing and disquieting smile, but decided to be polite. Well… just for this once anyway.

"Thank… you, I guess," were his quiet words. "I don't expect the rings have some special… use?" Samael closed the wooden box and hid it inside of his black cloak.

"Ah, you'll see, young master Hawke. You'll see." Xenon wheezed mischievously and ordered the urchin to escort the customer out of the Black Emporium.

oOo

Samael found his woman reading by the bedroom fire, crinkling her nose about something she didn't like. They had been living together for two months now, but Samael was still experiencing pure happiness every time he realized he wasn't alone anymore.

Merrill had been using Anders' spare staff lately, not daring to ask Samael for a new one, not after he had bought her several new sets of armor and filled two large wardrobes with various clothing for her. She knew he said he would take care of her, and it was a completely new and heady experience for her indeed, but she didn't want to be just Samael's burden. She was perfectly able to make her own living, although Samael's care was very addictive and engaging.

The assassin approached her with the packaged staff and it hit him just now he had no idea what he should say or do. Merrill looked up, a tender smile running across her lips when she saw him. She intended to stand up and greet him, but he pushed her gently back into the armchair, kneeling by the fire.

_Hmm… should I say something, then give it to her? Or should I just hand it over to her and talk about something else? Maybe I should hide it until I figure out how to present it to her? Damn it, why this is so hard for me? And where's that garrulous dwarf when I need him?_

Merrill noticed his restlessness and leaned against him, kissing him, pulling the thick cloak off of his bare shoulders. When she broke the kiss and leaned back, the elongated package was lying across her lap. She glanced at her lover in mute questioning, shyly touching the dark red duffel the staff was wrapped in.

"Yes. I mean… that's for you. Ehm… yes." Samael stood up abruptly and stalked to the other side of the room, fidgeting as he leaned on the dresser. Merrill was puzzled by his sudden withdrawal, but decided to look at that package first. The cloth revealed a darkest red polished wood pole and onyx drake scales flashed in the flame's glow. She threw the cloth away, staring in awe at the beautifully crafted ribbed staff head, a mesmerizing white and light purple light sparkling through the gaps. She felt a tremendous power emanating from the staff and when she grasped it, the power flew immediately into her body, making her gasp with pleasure. There were four sharp, yet inconspicuous, blades on the bottom of the staff, and wooden thorns around the staff head, making it lethal even for the melee combat. And above all, the staff really was an exquisite weapon, worthy of only an extremely talented mage.

The silent Samael was still facing the dresser, playing with two cold rings in his pocket, when he felt a small hand on his back. Tensing, he turned around, afraid to see Merrill's reaction, but her intense kiss told him everything he needed to know.

"Thank you. It's… marvelous. I… I…" Merrill peeped, searching for the proper words, hugging him tightly. Samael couldn't breathe a word, but he grinned and encircled her in his arms. Judging by her reaction, it was the first gift she had ever gotten.

"I'm glad you like it then. I have something… else. But I'm sure it's just a trinket, so… you can… sell it… or toss it away… or… you know." Samael's unusual rambling made her laugh and a black ring fell into her palm. Merrill examined the peculiar spider-like carvings, reading them out loud,

_I am that which binds _

_And cannot be undone_

_Before you don me, _

_Make sure of your one_

They were both musing about the strange words as Merrill placed the ring on her middle finger, pressing her hand on her heart as if there was somebody in the room intending to take it from her. Samael handed over the other ring so she could read the carvings there as well, to see if they were the same. Merrill walked the few steps to the fire, turning Samael's ring in her fingers.

_This stone shall tell _

_What you would have hidden_

_Come what may _

_And come unbidden_

Now these words were disturbing for Samael; it was oddly accurate, considering his tenacious struggle against his feelings for Merrill. But Samael was pleased by her gesture of devotion and gratitude and after a moment of hesitation he took the ring back and put it on as well. To his surprise, when he observed the cold annulet on his ring finger, the ring stone was mossy green, twinkling and changing to all the colors of green when he moved the hand. Samael pulled Merrill's hand closer and observed her ring stone in amazement. It was dark amber, like the fire was burning within. Samael shook his head, remembering Xenon's crafty sneer. The old charlatan was certainly aware the ring stone color would change into the eye color of the lover.

"Samael? I remember… the night when you wanted to leave Kirkwall. You told me something in elvish, I heard you." Merrill interrupted his thoughts and Samael looked knocked off balance, remembering what he had told her that night, thinking she couldn't hear him anyway.

"Ehm… you did… you heard me? How?" Merrill saw Samael blushing for the first time and she thought it was cute, but she was also aware if she told him that, he might just cut her down or worse – take the ring back!

"I just did. You've told me…" Merrill's quite voice was interrupted by his desperate attempt to avoid the topic.

"I know what I said, Merrill, could we just talk about something else? I… What do you think about the new garden?" Samael tried to turn around, but Merrill caught his jerkin.

"I was just curious, where you've learned the tongue of my people, ma vhenan, that's all."

"I had an elven teacher back in Lothering. Lornalin. I could tell you her story, but not… now. Please." Samael's voice was trembling, like the memory was too painful to relive and she understood, although something in his voice let her know how special this woman was for him.

Merrill stroked his cheek and her new ring flashed in a crimson flare as she touched him. He let their foreheads lean on each other, wondering, for how long his happiness would last this time.

oOo

Aveline, Fenris and Varric invaded the Hawke estate that evening, hooting in laughter about something, waking the whole sleepy mansion up at once.

"Really! This is what really happened to those elven twins. Cross my heart, hope to die!" Varric rushed through the hall to the fire to warm up his cold numb hands.

"You're just making things up, dwarf! City elves aren't like that… are they?" Fenris scratched his head, glancing at Aveline with a raised eyebrow.

"Don't look at me, I ceased listening to Varric's dirty stories three years ago," Aveline sizzled. The distant indignant voices made them shut up and pay attention.

"… I swear, Samael, if I find other socks under the bed, I'll make a soup of them and force you to eat it!"

"You are welcome to try to force me to do anything, witch!" Samael's mocking voice was interrupted by a low thud. "Besides your cooking is inedible even without my socks!" After this statement a choked whoosh reached their ears and the bright orange light came through the keyhole, followed by Samael's almost pirate swearing.

"Elgar'Nan, last time I found a sock there I thought there was a squirrel under our bed, you insufferable assassin! It was so dirty and fuzzy I expected it to start moving on its own! Why couldn't you… don't you DARE walk away right now, Samael Hawke!"

Samael opened the bedroom door, peering at his companions; his tunic sleeve was smoldering and he patted it to prevent a fire.

"Ah, here you are my loyal underlings. As you can see or hear, I'm in the middle of something, but make yourselves comfortable and we will hit the road as soon…"

A long thin arm dragged the rogue inside again, slamming the door closed. They all jumped, their mouths hanging open.

Bodahn trotted in to them and sighed when they all turned to him with mute questions.

"Ah… you know… they are a young couple, adjusting to living with each other…" A loud bang interrupted Bodahn's speech, catching their attention again.

"They have good days," a sound of breaking glass cut in, "and then there are bad days." Bodahn rounded his explanation up, accompanied by a woman's squealing and periodical quiet thuds, indicating…

"Dinner's ready, Messeres!" Bodahn tried to save the day, pushing them all to the dining room.

"Unbelievable!" Aveline snorted and marched out of mansion.

"Venhedis," Fenris growled, ogling the closed door.

Varric strolled to Samael's working table, ripped off a small piece of vellum parchment and wrote, syllabifying during the process, "Trouble… in… paradise." Then he smirked and walked away as well, dragging the pouty elf with him.

oOo

An elf ripped his curved blade out of the man's skull and scanned the clearing. The bodies of a merchant's wife, his three sons and two servants were scattered around and the elf had glimpsed yet another young servant hiding in the caravan under the pelts. He grabbed him by the ankle, dragged him out, and let him tumble right next to his dead master. The poor elven servant whimpered and covered his eyes, so he couldn't see the proud warrior standing nonchalantly above him.

When the wind pulled his light silver cloak apart, the armor beneath it looked like it came from the long lost glorious days of the elven Arlathan Kingdom. The silver breastplate and pauldrons shone in the sun, the drake scales crimson sleeves were menacing and well-protecting. The armor was completed with a fine buckskin jerkin beneath the breastplate, and buckskin trousers, both dyed in silverish tones. The feet were protected with brown leather boots reaching to his knees; they were tracker's boots – nimble and comfortable. The most conspicuous item was embedded into the jerkin; it was a large gleaming emerald.

The warrior's sword was an exquisite piece of work, looking like it was taken from some long forgotten ancient elven tomb deep in the Brecilian forest. The silver hilt was adorned with elaborate twining flowers and thin long straws snaking around it. The steel blade was non-tempered except for the edge, where tempered steel was welded because that way the sword was both flexible and sharp. Not mention it was almost unshatterable.

Absolutely unconcerned, the standing warrior waited patiently for the wallowing servant to look up at him and when he did so, he spoke. His voice was surprisingly melodious and gentle. "Do you possess magic, elf?" The warrior was standing like a statue now, cold, motionless, focused at the answer. The servant was no mage and even if he was, he would have denied that, of course, since it wasn't healthy to be a mage outside of the Circle.

"N-no, Messere… I'm n-not a… a… m-mage," he blurted out, considering that answer as a good choice.

"Too bad," the warrior slit his throat and started cleaning his blood-stained sword and knife with the servant's tunic. When the slow and meticulous work was done, the warrior strolled to the caravan and peered inside. Satisfied with the result, he sat on the caravan step and lit up a cigar.

"Too bad," he whispered to himself, searching the cloudless sky, hedonistically blowing the smoke. He looted the caravan and the bodies, and decided he was in a mood for one more raid today. He left the clearing and wandered on the Wounded Coast for an hour until he found a suitable choked place, excellent for an ambush. A path, leading through the rocks on right, the steep cliff on left. He was about to light another cigar when the chilling salt breeze brought distant voices to his trained and sensitive ears. He climbed up high on the rocks and hid himself with a dexterity that told that he had done this countless times before.

"… Come on, Hawke, all I'm saying – just look after yourself. The Coterie is plotting something again and of all people, you know best you are a constant pain in their asses since you've stolen the Carta lyrium contract for Kirkwall."

"You keep telling me about this new Coterie leader Raen, Varric, but I haven't even seen him yet. Is he that ugly or that lazy? Fenris will just cut his head off if he starts bothering me and…"

A woman's mewling interrupted their conversation. "Samael! Samael, I think I stepped in something!" The hidden elf considered their reaction insulting, since the three men started guffawing as the addressed shemlen wrapped his arm around the woman in a possessive and placatory gesture.

The lurking elf saw the shemlen stop the whole group abruptly with his raised fist, probing the area with narrowed eyes. They all fell silent and the shemlen pushed the woman behind him.

_Ar'vanima! How could he feel me? He's nothing but a shemlen worm, yet there might be some abilities within him… surprisingly._

The elf was now able to see one shemlen, the legs of the hidden woman, one dwarf balancing a huge crossbow in his hands and one strange elven warrior, who breathed out, "What is it, Samael?"

"I'm not… sure. There's something out there." The shemlen made a few hesitant steps, holding both hands near the sheathed blades. But the assailant was confident in his own abilities. Yes, he had lost the advantage of surprise, but it didn't matter. First, he would have to take down that dwarf, that crossbow could easily mar the ambush. Then he planned on slitting the elf warrior's throat and considered tossing the shemlen off the cliff, but rejected the idea since he would lose the possibility of looting the body. And the woman, well, he could always use some fun, right?

Not waiting to be discovered, the elf threw the knife into the dwarf's belly. Varric looked down in amazement and collapsed, clenching the wound with both hands. The goal was achieved since the crossbow was laying on the ground now. But the elf had underestimated the shemlen, who reacted with unexpected swiftness and only elf's invincible senses let him dodge the thrown blade aimed at his heart. The maneuver cost the elf his balance and he crashed down onto the path, only to land in a perfectly crouched pose, a sword already in his hand.

Samael shoved Merrill backwards, nodding towards Varric. Merrill nodded back and kneeled beside the hurt dwarf. Samael leapt forward, challenging the attacker and their blades met, striking sparks as the attack speeded up until they both fought at an insane pace. The glowing Fenris roared right behind Samael, discontent that there was space just for one man on the path. Samael realized that as well and used backstab to make space for his elven brother, who grinned at that courtesy and begun wielding his splendid weapon.

It was only now that the elf realized he had chosen the worst possible targets, but he still could win, oh yes he could. Without hesitation, he dodged the fierce attacks from behind, grabbed Fenris by his breast plate, turned him around and pushed him off the path. The lyrium warrior was now balancing on the edge of the cliff, facing the chasm beneath his trembling feet. The warrior held him with one hand by his neck part of the jerkin, challenging the shemlen to attack again and send his friend flying onto the sharp rocks and foaming water at the bottom. Samael scowled, holding his throwing blades at ready, his thoughts whirling around Fenris and his helpless expression.

Samael had the chance to explore his attacker's face now. It was chiseled into appealing curves with prominent cheek bones and thin lips twisted into disdainful smile. The hazel hair that fell to his shoulders was well-groomed and two strands were entwined into an elaborate and neat braid. A delicate goldish tattoo net curled on his forehead and a carefully trimmed hazel goatee. But Samael stared right into those reptile eyes, dead black eyes with darkened scleras and no visible pupil. Yet the face had the odd pale beauty of the old elven gods, which was considered lost forever.

Despite the situation, Fenris growled, "Cut him down, Samael, he's a mage, I can smell the magic within him. Kill him. Do it!"

"Shut the fuck up, Fenris!" Samael snapped at him, focusing fully on the attacker, calculating his next move. He would love to throw his knife right between those lifeless eyes but the attacker would have dropped Fenris into the gulf.

Nobody moved, nobody spoke, until Merrill took a good look at their attacker for the first time and breathed out, "F… Fawn?"

The elf twitched at that name and turned his blank face to Merrill. They stared at each other for a long minute. Fawn then pulled Fenris up to his feet and pushed him roughly towards the assassin, who was still holding the blades en garde. Fenris stumbled and he would have fallen, but Samael sheathed his blades in a quick fluid movement and caught him, steadying him and sweeping his white hair gently off his sweaty forehead.

Fawn nonchalantly sheathed his sword and strolled to the mute Dalish elf, kissing her hand in a courtly gesture. Her hand was still coated in Varric's blood. Samael blinked at this unexpected twist, frowning about the intimacy with which the attacker was touching his woman, and Merrill's blush confirmed his intention to dispatch this elf as soon as possible. Well… when Merrill wasn't looking.

"A most pleasant encounter, Merrill. May I know which Creator has wafted you here, to these forsaken lands?" Fawn's quiet, smooth voice, the odd old-fashioned courtesy with which he treated his woman and his complete indifference towards others made Samael step in right between them. Fawn granted him a cold glance, daring him to further interrupt their talking, continuing the conversation with his fellow elf. "If this shemlen bothers you, I could send him smelling the grass roots for you. Just say the word, Merrill." Fawn smiled at her like he was talking about the weather and a blossoming meadow.

Merrill caught Samael's hands fumbling for his sheathed daggers and smiled back at Fawn, shaking her head.

"Fawn, meet my… uhm… amin vhen'edhellen, Samael Hawke."

"Samael, ma vhenan, this is Fawn Mahariel."


	2. Chapter 2

Samael still couldn't believe that he had let Merrill talk him into offering Fawn temporary asylum in the estate. In his defense, she used rather persuasive tactics. These included fluttering her eyelashes and a few stolen words whispered to him by the fireplace while Fawn waited in the dining room, looking around with poorly hidden interest. Samael could understand Merrill's eagerness to spend time with an old friend from Fereldan, although the new feeling that burnt in Samael's mind was disquieting and oddly persistent—jealousy. Just the way Fawn was looking at her, briefly touching her hand or looking deep into her eyes… this was enough to set the assassin's head on fire, and he wished to toss the smooth elf out of the door. Even better to slash his throat, then toss him out of the door. Maybe cut him into pieces. And burn the pieces and let the whole damned Hightown choke on the dust.

Samael had to restrain himself. A conversation with those two crazy elves awaited him and he well knew he had to demonstrate his superiority so the elven warrior knew who was the leader here and more importantly – who was Merrill's one and only lover.

"So… the Hero of Fereldan, right?" Samael settled down in the huge armchair by the fire, trying hard to preserve a neutral expression, but Fawn glimpsed a light smirk running across the assassin's face. "Care to tell me how you two got acquainted back in Fereldan?" Samael turned to Merrill, channeling the question strictly to her.

Fawn gestured towards the second armchair, intending to sit the lady down, but stay standing himself since there were no more seats, but Merrill waved her hand to let him take it and nestled down on Samael's lap, to the surprise of both men. Now it was Samael's turn to notice a brief wave of disapproval flowing across Fawn's face.

_So this is how things are… This elven princelet just doesn't acknowledge any beings besides the elven mages. And of course he would like to see another elf by Merrill's side. Most likely himself. Elven skunk with his polished armored ass…_

Merrill interrupted his musing, leaning backwards on him. "We found Fawn four years ago in the Brecilian forest, half-dead, after his escape from the Circle. It was my duty as the Keeper's First to tend to his injuries and take care of him. He was living with the clan for a while, until Duncan of the Grey Wardens came and…"

Fawn jumped in, obviously not willing to share the details of his life with an inferior human. "Then I left the clan, killed the Archdemon, spend some time in Amaranthine and left Fereldan for good. If you don't mind Merrill, I would like to turn in now."

Fawn's speech was completely indifferent and a little bit bored, but Samael did perceive an odd agitation and well-concealed wish to end the conversation as soon as possible. And, of course, the assassin couldn't ignore that Fawn had completely overlooked the fact that this was Samael's mansion, not to mention that he could show some basic gratitude for the shelter. Well… this pointy-ear dandy wouldn't get off so easily, oh no.

Samael snaked his arms around the limp woman on his lap, observing her heavy eyelids falling and inhaling the salt and sea emanating from her hair, while he let his thumb brush her lips.

"Why don't you go to our bedroom, my little pariah? Bodahn has prepared a hot bath. I'll join you as soon as I'm… _done…_ here." Samael's dark amber eyes blazed with impish stars as he woke Merrill and made her quiver with desire. She couldn't see those same eyes had turned into crimson icicles, piercing Fawn, a second later. She leaned to the assassin's ear, whispering tenderly, "Don't let me wait too long, ma vhenan." Merrill stood up, stretching like a lazy cat, glancing at Fawn. "Good night, Fawn. I'm so glad we've met again."

Fawn, masking his discomposure at Samael's desire to speak with him alone, bowed to her and stood up chivalrously as Merrill made her way to the bedroom, her bare soles smacking softly on the stone stairs.

"Thank you for your lovely hospitality and now if you'll excuse me…" Fawn's voice sounded like he was talking about a fly buzzing around his head. A very annoying fly.

An innocent smile on his face, Samael gestured towards the prepared guest room. The assassin's hair whirled like a black storm as Fawn reached the door and the elf was slammed against it, his arms twisted mercilessly behind his back. Samael's hair tickled him on his neck, left cheek and ear. Samael was taller and strong enough to easily hold the struggling elf in check. The assassin knew if he had attempted to approach the nimble elf directly, Fawn would have slipped out of his grasp, but now, using this little ruse, Samael was the one in control.

"I don't know nor care who you are, Fawn Mahariel, but as long as you are taking advantage of my hospitality, you will follow my rules, elf! Understood? Otherwise take your toy sword and get out." Samael's breath burnt in Fawn's ear and Fawn quit his silent fighting, realizing it was futile. "And about Merrill," Samael continued, but was interrupted by the elf's mocking voice.

"So this is what all this is about? Marking your territory? Too insecure, too stupid to keep a woman like her by your side, you pathetic human?" Samael pulled the elf off the door, only to shove him against it even harder than before.

"You didn't catch the part about following my rules and not touching my woman with your smarmy hands, elf!" Samael tightened his grip, observing Fawn's defiant face in profile. Fawn was a much better diplomat than Hawke and decided it would be wise not to tease the warped assassin any more.

"The rules are…?" Fawn's unconcerned expression was driving Samael crazy, but he managed to gulp down his temper.

"No hidden agenda. No leaking information about what you see or hear here. When I call you to do something, like fighting, you will do it. Drop the act, elf, for I am able to see right through you. And hands off Merrill. In case you haven't noticed, she is _mine_. I bid you good night, oh mighty Hero of Fereldan."

Now it was Fawn's turn to feel the keen thorns of mockery, but he was wise enough to let it go. For now. His time would come, and this human would get what was coming to him, oh yes. But not yet. Not if Fawn wanted to obtain what he had come here for; and he always got what he desired.

"Ah, one more thing," without warning, Samael pulled down the neck of Fawn's pliable buckskin jerkin, intending to look for the Fereldan Circle of Magi sign and to confirm this part of the elf's story. The sign was supposed to be tattooed on the upper back, right beneath the nape, but Samael glimpsed only an unlovely old burn and a row of vertical scars crossing the elf's backbone.

A furious counterattack sent the assassin staggering back, shocked by this little involuntary discovery. The two men were staring in silence at each other, estimating each other, then at the same time they turned and left the hall – Fawn slipping into the guest room, Samael heading for his bedroom. Samael felt tense and the whole conversation was more disturbing than satisfying, but, luckily, he had somebody to help him wipe away this tension. That somebody was ogling him from a bathtub full of foam as he stripped off his clothing with a teasing smile.

oOo

The note said Samael was supposed to come to the alienage alone and completely alone he had arrived, if you omitted Isabela's inquiring eye peering at him from around the corner, Varric's dark silhouette on the roof, and Fenris lurking in the Merrill's old house.

Samael strolled across the silent alienage courtyard, squeezing the hafts of his throwing knives under his black cloak, scanning the neighborhood, trying to pierce the night shadows. He couldn't have been more surprised when he recognized the pale figure emerging from a dark corner.

"Marethari..." Samael breathed out, pulling his hands out of his cloak and bowing to greet her.

"I see you didn't expect me, Hawke, and I am truly sorry to bother you with this, but I need your help. And as I can see you didn't obey my wish that you come alone. Call your men here if you trust them." Marethari glanced around and waved her hands at Fenris striding toward them. Isabela sauntered along with him and Varric jumped off the roof, smirking at Hawke.

"What is it you need from me? And why did the note say Merrill wasn't supposed to be here?" Samael narrowed his eyes as he did every time somebody needed something from him. Sometimes he thought he had lived his whole time in Kirkwall with his eyes narrowed.

"I see you are a human of deeds, not words, Hawke. I shall get to the point then. When you tried to reach Feynriel and send him to the Circle, you weren't able to locate him." Samael noticed it wasn't a question so he just nodded in agreement.

"Then you tried to find him along with the Templars, but failed again and ceased searching, telling Arianni her son was probably dead," Marethari continued. Judging by her expression, Samael figured out she had found the boy and something was wrong. He sighed and rubbed his temples.

"I'll interrupt you right here, Keeper. You know where the boy is and you want me to do what...? Drag him to the Circle? Kill him? Teach him to sing?"

Marethari granted him a rather restive look and her words left Samael frozen to the spot. "I need you to reach him in the Fade where he's trapped in an endless nightmare. I need you to bring him back or kill him there, so the possibility of his being possessed will be eradicated." Marethari set her fluid eyes at the assassin, waiting for his answer.

Samael threw his hands up, pulling the cloak apart and revealing his black leather armor and the buckskin belt crammed with throwing knives. "Absolutely NOT! In case you haven't noticed, I am no mage, Keeper. Men like me have no business in the Fade. You should have saved the trip from Sundermount. Farewell." Samael turned around, intending to walk away.

"You have a debt to settle, Samael Hawke," Marethari's serene voice stopped him and he suddenly realized how right she was in this simple statement. After all, it was her antidote that saved his life. He sighed, knowing there was no way he could wriggle out of this now.

After Marethari presented him all facts, in the end she made an unexpected move and pulled Hawke so near that her silver hair tickled him on the chin; it smelled of herbs and mouldering leaves. An odd urgency in Marethari's whisper made him nervous.

"Don't bring Merrill along, Hawke. Mark my words." With this short and more puzzling than explanatory statement, Marethari turned and vanished into Lowtown.

oOo

Astonished, Samael blinked around, recognizing the walls of the Gallows. His feet were hidden in whirling shreds of mist and everything was oddly blurred. He tried to rub his eyelids, but it didn't help of course. Merrill put her cold hand onto his shoulder in a reassuring gesture and smiled as Samael recalled her adamant stubbornness about bringing her along. She absolutely refused to let him go into the Fade without her, reasoning with him, convincing him he would need a mage. Anders had rejected the possibility of going to Fade in a panic, too afraid of what would happen to Justice.

"I can't believe you've convinced me to come with you, Hawke," Fenris scowled, touching the floating wall in suspicion.

Despite the Fade around him, Samael laughed when he said, "Let me remind you who insisted on coming with me, you elven tick!" Fenris tittered, nudging him in the ribs. Their little playful dispute was interrupted with Aveline's impatient snort, so they moved on. By the Marethari's description, they were supposed to pass three chambers. Feynriel should be here somewhere.

As they cautiously entered the first room, it seemed empty at first, but the temperature shifted in a second and Samael touched his numb lips as he breathed out little cloudlets of frost. That... couldn't be good. And it wasn't.

The whole room darkened, shrank, and obscure contours were emerging all around them. All they could do was wait, close together, back to back, and observe the change. There was a huge mound of boots, which were obviously brought here to be cleaned and polished, a shabby table with one dead hand-made candle, and a rotting paillasse in the corner. While their eyes were growing accustomed to the darkness, a soft moan from the poor substitute for a bed drew their attention. They hadn't noticed Fenris' stiff pose and widened eyes until his greatsword clanged on the freezing flagstones, making them all jump and whirl around.

Samael searched his face and his own heart sank down as he observed the utter horror in the eyes of the fearless lyrium warrior. Fenris was stumbling backwards, his gaze locked at a dark sobbing silhouette lying on the paillasse. The assassin intended to comfort him when a gleeful voice wheezed around them,

"Who knows... What you whispered in the darkness... _Leto_... When your world was shrinking into the face of your... Master. Who knows... Who cares... What you whispered... to yourself... When they took your freedom... Who knows... What you have seen in the blind mirror... When you looked into it and saw... _Fenris_!

"SHUT UP!" Fenris covered his ears and collapsed. A pellucid figure was approaching him, raising its scabby arms in a loving gesture.

"Who knows... How you survived his visits... Night after night... When nothing made sense anymore... And you wished... to DIE!" The figure sneered and caressed Fenris' snowy hair.

"Go away... Spirit... Demon... Stop it! Stop, please. Samael, make him STOP!" Fenris shrieked and hid his head under his arms.

He had never looked more wretched and weak than now and Samael didn't wait for anything worse as he pierced the figure with both his daggers. It moaned and dissipated, but the fading laughter let them know it wasn't over by a long shot.

Samael kneeled cautiously, too afraid to touch the broken elven warrior, but even more afraid to leave him alone. As he gently squeezed a shuddering shoulder, Fenris grabbed his hand and tried to get ahold of himself. The absolute pain emanating from Fenris squeezed the assassin's guts, and he had no clue how to make it go away.

"It's... gone, Fenris. You are all right. It's gone now." Samael's quiet words worked and the assassin was able to pull the elf up to his feet again while Aveline sheathed the greatsword on Fenris' back and Merrill handed her fellow elf a golden potion. Samael pushed the potion away and forced the elf to take a few gulps of whiskey from a small silver flask. Merrill frowned but apparently Samael's way of coping with problems worked, since Fenris stopped trembling and glanced around, shaking his head. "Better," Fenris rasped and Samael grinned.

Ruminating about the first chamber, Samael found himself afraid to enter the second one, but there was really no other choice, right?

They stopped in the middle of spacious vault, the air smelling of mold, and tears of moisture rolling down the walls. The stone beneath their feet rocked and they all fell to the ground.

"By the Dread Wolf...!" Merrill peeped, snatching her new staff.

"Fasta vaas!" Fenris growled, helping a fuming Samael up.

Aveline stayed down, staring at the approaching ghost. When it stood right above her, she clenched her eyes, refusing to acknowledge Weasley's veiled eyes burning through her.

"Happy to see me again... _wife_? Or have you already forgotten my face as well, _wife_? Have you ever wondered during your long sleepless nights, where is Weasley, _wife_? Oh wait... Right... You left me to die! You didn't even try to save me, but I would have tried everything to save you!

"Cut it in half, Aveline," Samael's lazy voice interrupted the ghost. Aveline glanced at her leader in shock, her eyes full of the tears so rarely spilled before and hatred at his harsh words.

"Ah, yes, _wife_, just cut me in half! Kill me for the second time! It won't wash away the guilt, _wife_!" Aveline was shaking her head and turned her bloodless face to Hawke, unsheathing her sword and approaching him slowly. Samael prepared for the worst.

"Look at me! Aveline, look at me! This is not Weasley. Guards-Captain!" Samael had his own weapons en garde, ready to defend himself. Aveline gave him a sad smile, whirled around, and cut the ghost's head off in an unstoppable sweep. She fell on her knees right next to vaporizing body and let herself cry over the grief that had haunted her since Weasley's death. The rest of them flocked apart from her, giving her space to calm down, nobody daring to talk to her.

When she had strolled to them after a moment, rubbing her swollen eyes and not bothering to sheath the sword, they all mutely moved to the next door with resigned expressions. Samael sighed and kicked the last door open, peering inside. The room looked like his own bedroom, blurred into dreamy shapes. Only it was a bit crowded with Feynriel sprawling on the bed and five huge demons circling him, their claws raised above the boy's figure, murmuring in a forgotten language.

Samael gulped, but his raising anger and desire to get out of here made his voice steady and bright. "Last time I looked this was still my bedroom, demons!" Samael hissed, swinging his blades impatiently in the air. Feynriel slowly opened his eyes, rose, and Samael's heart skipped a beat as he realized a demon was already within the boy.

The boy folded his arms and started orbiting the standing rogue who was suddenly unable to move or defend himself. The others seemed to have the same problem.

"My… my… some of these mortals are powerful vessels," Feynriel tittered, stroking Samael's long hair. Merrill saw her lover's muscles bulging, but he did… nothing. She managed to sizzle through her clenched teeth, "Step away from him, demon!"

"Silence, elven whore!" Feynriel was still smiling, pawing Samael like a long desired present. "Tell me, mortal. How far would you go to get what you've craved for so long? You are young, wealthy, handsome. What is it that makes you insatiated even now, when you seem to have everything? Why don't you cut off the bonds that chain you in this cesspool of a city? Who is standing between you and the greatness, the power ,you've only dreamt of until now?"

Samael glanced desperately at his companions, Merrill was shaking her head in a mute plea. Pale Aveline, clenching her fists tight. Fenris, his beloved brother, was still struggling with his own demons. Would he hurt any of them? To what end? Wait… why he would want to hurt them? This… this wasn't his desire at all. Really… what had he been thinking for a moment there?

Samael's hands clasped the daggers tight and in the next second, Feynriel's head was rolling on the waving carpet. Now, when the spell was broken, he intended to challenge every damned demon here, but a painfully familiar sound made him whirl around to face his friends and a lover. Oh yes, he should have paid attention to what the other demon was whispering to Merrill. But it was too late.

Aveline and Fenris were caught in crimson-black fibre cocoons of blood magic, screaming mutely as invisible claws grazed their flesh. Even now Fenris was able to see a little silver elven knife, stuck right between the fourth and fifth rib, piercing the Samael's heart from behind. The last thing Samael saw was a pair of crimson eyes, the blazing eyes of an enemy.

Samael was dead before he hit the ground.

oOo

Fenris didn't know if the lyrium etched into his skin or pure hatred let him break the prison, but he made it out. Not bothering with a weapon, he knocked Merrill down with his shoulder, kicking her like a mad man, only to grab her by the neck and lift her in the air, observing her bleeding wrists, red eyes and lips twisted into a cruel grin.

He heard Aveline's inhuman roaring behind him, letting him know she was taking good care of the demons, despite her wounds. Fenris wasn't sure how long he held Merrill, but then – finally – his fist glowed, ready to rip her heart out, to shred her into twitching pieces for what she had done. Alas, somebody caught that fist.

"I thought you would push my hand inside, not hold it back, Guards-Captain," Fenris snarled, still at least killing Merrill with his eyes.

"Believe me, I'd rather cut her head off myself, but Samael's not dead, Fenris. He will wake up once we get out of here, but if you kill Merrill here, she's Tranquil." Aveline voice was trembling, repressing her anger and desire for vengeance.

"And? Isn't that what she deserves? After what she's done? She KILLED him, Aveline! Stabbed him in the back! What worse she could have done than that?" Fenris shoved the other elf to the wall, where she collapsed, groping at her neck and struggling for every breath.

"She will be dealt with. With Samael's temper, I don't expect her to live long after he's awake." Even an eternal, drunken optimist wouldn't consider the sneer on Aveline's face as a smile.

"Let us be done with this Fade then. I can't wait to see her guts hanging out of the window at the Hawke estate." Fenris sheathed his greatsword, dragging Merrill by the ankle to the portal Marethari had established for them.

oOo

The silence was interrupted only by Merrill's choked sobs, Varric's stomping around the room, and Fenris' quiet Tevinter swearing every time he felt the urge to kick the tiny elf cuffed in the corner. When Fenris couldn't bear the silence anymore he jumped up.

"Why isn't he awake yet?" He snapped at Anders, who was sitting on the bed, checking Samael's pulse.

It was regular and strong but Anders rubbed his eyes in anxiety. "I've told you! There's no reason Samael shouldn't wake up right away just like you did… _unfortunately_…" Anders murmured, glancing at the skittering elf in annoyance. "But yell some more, Fenris - he might wake up just to shut up your filthy mouth."

The elven warrior was about to shout a properly venomous reply, when Samael gasped, sitting up abruptly and scrabbling at his back. Anders caught his hands gently. Samael was obviously fumbling for the knife still stuck in his back, but, of course, there was none.

Fenris cupped his face, forcing him to look up at him, his eyebrows knitted as he observed Samael's wild eyes, disjointed breathing, and a single tear running down his face. Fenris wiped it away, whispering soothing words nobody else was supposed to hear. Nobody but his assassin.

Anders was always astonished by this sudden change in the lyrium warrior's behavior regarding their leader, but this was not the time nor place to muse about that.

Samael's eyes were wandering around the room, stopping at the relieved Aveline and Varric. Samael even managed to give them a bland smile, whispering hoarsely, "Just a false alarm, I guess." When Samael noticed the crouching Merrill chained in a corner, his expression turned into an impenetrable wall, but Fenris and Anders were near enough to see Samael was about to break.

"Fenris… take me out of here. Please, just take me away." If Fenris was stunned by this unexpected plea whispered to him, the rest of them were gaping in awe. They had expected everything from torturing the blood mage and handing her over to Templars to simple execution, but this… This was much worse.

Fenris didn't wait for anything else. He pulled Samael to his feeble feet and gave his fellow elf a last annihilating glance, telling her this wasn't over. He left the room with Samael, supporting him. The assassin felt the comforting and familiar heat emanating from Fenris' arms encircling him and let himself be led like a lamb.

"Come back! Samael, come back, please!" Merrill's desperate shouting ripped the silence apart. Samael just closed his eyes and continued walking.

As the heavy front door slammed close, she was only able to whisper, "Come back," one last time. Her gaze slipped to the ring on her finger. The fire stone flashed in the last spark of light, then it darkened into a dove grey. She hid her head under the thin arms and her consciousness left her as if even it didn't wish to have anything in common with her.


	3. Chapter 3

The sky had the color of the eyes of a fourteen day old floater and the sun hung above the horizon like bloody spittle. Despite the freezing breeze coming from the sea waving his disheveled hair, Samael was sitting on docks steps with salty drops of water splashing on his boots.

He felt so miserable that even the cynic inside of him crawled in a hole and fell silent. He had spent the last two days in Fenris' mansion drinking his brain out and his eyes now looked like two pieces of ice right before melting in a glass of whiskey. He couldn't have chosen a better hiding place since Fenris didn't question him, ever; he kept his glass full of alcohol and didn't let anyone get near him.

Samael had noticed Aveline, Anders and Varric had come to visit separately, but Fenris deflected them all using his usual charming way of conversation: shouting various alterations of "piss off." Samael had to smile against his will as he reminded himself yesterday evening. He and Fenris were sitting on the dilapidated sofa, intertwined together, speaking only occasionally and sipping red wine.

Fenris let out an undignified belch, accompanied by Samael's dry laughing. Well… you know these brute assassins and their unrefined elven friends with glowing asses.

"I did Isabela three days ago. She's… good." Fenris grinned, watching his pal. Samael snuggled on the warm, softly heaving bare chest, tittering about the elf's expression; he looked like he wasn't sure if Samael would approve of Fenris having sex with somebody else.

"Yep, amen to that, brother. I've been there." Fenris roared in laughter about the snippy reply, feeding Samael grapes.

"Listen, Fenris…" Samael raised his head, observing the elf's profile, waiting for him to look at him. "You… don't happen to know… Merrill..." Samael regretted this already, considering Fenris' reaction. His face turned scarlet and his jaw set in anger.

"Aveline told me, she's at the Circle of Magi in isolation. For reasons unknown to me, Aveline brought her there like a common stray mage, hiding her blood magic. She wanted me to tell you that she won't make the same mistake like with that Quentin pig. She will wait for you to decide that whore's fate," Fenris sputtered out in one breath, his voice full of disdain and hatred.

Samael really had no clue how he felt after this statement. The alcohol couldn't put off the fire Merrill had started forever. He needed to think so he went wondering through Lowtown only to end up in the docks, staring at the sombre Gallows across the bay.

The chilly air woke him up at least and his mind was clear again. His thoughts whirled involuntarily around Merrill. Ever since they had met three years ago, they belonged together. Even Samael couldn't deny that now. He had her at his back wherever he turned and of course, he had stalked her like a predator its wounded prey. The fight they had, the kiss that followed... That night in Lowtown she was ready to give up her life to save him right on the spot. Then the Gallows episode, when Merrill didn't hesitate to turn on her former clan even if that could have meant a death from the hands of her former brethren. And honestly, only a few could beaten down Aveline like she did. Samael couldn't omit those last two months when they had lived together, he hadn't been happier in his entire life than during those two damned months.

The green ring stone blinked at the assassin and he resisted the urge to toss it into the billowing waves. He did turn the tiny stone into his palm so he would be spared having to look at it.

After all this, Samael had been stabbed in the back–both physically and figuratively–by the only person he hadn't hesitated to turn his back to. He had considered his back as protected knowing she was there. But not anymore. Everything was wrong. If this would have happened somewhere outside of Fade, Samael would be dead now with a little hole opening him from the opposite side than where a warrior usually died from. But what if he had deserved it? The demon might have just loosened Merrill's desire to kill him, the desire lurking deep in her heart… Yes, that would make sense too.

Restless, Samael jumped up, snuggling into the thick black cloak. This needed to be resolved or he wouldn't ever find peace.

oOo

"Do you need me to remind you that she killed you? I saw her, Hawke! She pulled out the knife and jabbed it right into you, you fool! No hesitation. No regrets."

Samael stood in front of the yelling Guards-Captain, receiving her scolding with an unexpected submission.

"Aveline, I…" he tried to explain, but his voice cracked.

"You nothing, Hawke! Let me sign this order and let the Templars do their job. I've told you she couldn't be trusted! And now we have it here! Just for once, please listen to me and…"

"You must be very pleased, right Aveline? Everything is as you predicted!" Samael lost his ostensibly passive repose, throwing his arms sideways. Then he stalked to the armchair and collapsed into it, tracing with a finger the knife carvings he made there recently, but Aveline wouldn't leave him be. She was wallowing in pleasure and self-importance every time she had an opportunity to lecture somebody.

"So what now? Do you want to pretend nothing bad happened? Live happily ever after, with that blade stuck in your back?" Aveline searched his tormented, yet defiant face and it was crystal clear what would he do if she handed Merrill over to the Templars for an execution.

"You would break into her room at night and take her if I don't let you near her now, wouldn't you…" Aveline sighed, leaning on her desk.

A hesitant grin sprawled on Samael's face. "If you say so, Guards-Captain. Thank you for an idea, anyway."

"Like I said, I'll let you do whatever you wish to do with her. But Samael, consider this a warning. If she does something like that again, I'll personally drag her to the Meredith's office and let her carry out the coup de grâce and nothing you would say or do will stop me." Samael saw Aveline was deadly serious and he still wasn't sure what he would do with Merrill once he saw her again.

"Understood," Samael bowed and almost ran away to the Gallows. Guardsman Donnic, who was supposed to be his escort, was panting right behind him and wondering more about Aveline's full red lips than the task that was given to him by her.

oOo

Samael was stopped right before the Gallows gate. An elven prince, glistening in the winter sun like silver, ignoring people around staring at him and whispering, rushed to him and stood in silence in the assassin's way.

"A friend of yours, Messere Hawke?" Donnic peeped a bit effeminately. Both men, burning amber eyes clashing with the narrowed shark eyes, turned at the Guardsman, who was gaping into the bottomless blackness of Fawn's eyes in rapture.

Fawn glanced into a near alcove and both men marched there without words, leaving Donnic guarding the entrance.

"Anything on your mind, Fawnie?" Samael gave him a sardonic smile, mangling the elf's name on purpose.

"I don't remember allowing you to use my name, you human rascal." Fawn's hand was loosely clasped around the sword hilt, not even the tiniest muscle moved on his face. But somehow Samael knew the raw wrath was smoldering within the elf and he grinned back. That move resulted in the human being pinned against the wall. Finally! Finally he managed to knock the proud elf off balance.

"I demand you share with me your intentions with Merrill. I know she's here and she has done nothing to deserve such a treatment!" Fawn was fuming now, gripping Samael's shoulders with vise-like hands.

"Hmm, you do smell good, Fawnie. Is it my citrus soap?" Samael inhaled the scent of the elf, mocking him even more and trying, how much it took to push the self-confident elf out of his precious control. Not much, judging by the snarling 'ar'vanima' and a cold blade caressing his throat at once. At that moment, Samael grew bored of this game and after a silent struggle, the elf was now the one pinned on the wall. Donnic just gulped, refusing even glance behind his broad back.

"You know, Fawn, maybe you should be careful, since the winter hunting season has started and I might be bored enough to take down some _deer_. I don't usually kill baby animals, like wolf cubs or _fawns, _but I might suffer this one exception, just because I… _like_… you so much."

Fawn had no answer for that since he was contemplating about the most painful death he could grant that insufferable human. Samael calmed down, stepping back from the elf, dusting his beautiful elven armor. "Good as new," he smirked and Fawn stormed off, hitting Samael's shoulder and shoving Donnic out of his way.

"What is wrong with him?" Donnic squeaked when Samael helped him up on his feet.

"Nothing. He just… needs to get laid." Samael laughed and murmured much less cheerfully to himself, "Like me."

oOo

Samael's relatively good mood died at once, as they marched through the familiar darkened corridors of the Gallows, passing along the countless doors leading to the small private cells for mages. Donnic had an official document from Aveline entitling them to pass the Templar posts and visit one apostate.

The oppressive atmosphere was whispering around them and Samael for the first time in his life thought about the right to lock the mages up here just because they were born with magic abilities. His silent musing was interrupted by Donnic who stopped and gestured towards the door with a number 207. Hesitating, Samael laid his hand on the clammy doorknob, glancing at the Guardsman.

"Ave… I mean the Guards-Captain told me not to interfere in whatever should happen inside." Donnic pushed his boots together, and Samael simply nodded in reply, taking a deep breath.

The assassin slipped in, closing the door inaudibly behind him. The room was just like other cells: small and fusty, a tiny window, a table with chair and a dresser with small mirror hanging above it. Merrill's pale skin glowed in the darkness; she lay motionless on the bed, cuddled into herself.

_Maker… I didn't want this. How could __I let Aveline lock her up here? Here, where I've already allowed her to be locked up once on purpose to find Quentin. She's been here for three days now while I was marinating my guts in Tevinter wine…_

"I hope you are satisfied," Merrill whispered. So, she was awake. Was that better or worse than being asleep? Samael didn't know, but although it was completely without any reproach or venom, her remark cut right through him. How she managed to recognize him without looking at him was a mystery.

Merrill felt the thin mattress rock as Samael sat down next to her, silent, only to jump up a second later, pacing around the confined cell.

"Why?" was his only question, burning in his mind since the Fade events. "What could it possibly promise to you that you would… you would…" His hoarse voice faded; unable to finish the stabbing him in his back part.

Merrill stood up, strolling to him, intending to touch him, to explain, but he dodged her pale hand and this mute gesture of contempt was much worse than any berating or yelling.

"I don't know, Samael. I swear I don't know. It was like I was looking at myself from above, not being myself, and that awful whispering in my head… loathsome whispering… and my staff… and… I…" Samael cut off her incoherent rambling, pushing her backwards until she hit the wall and gasped in pain.

"I… do… not… trust… you!" He hissed, piercing her through with his gleaming eyes.

"Nothing new, I see!" Merrill shrieked, pounding on his chest with her butterfly fists. She really should have thought twice about this venomous reply, because it annihilated those two months of happiness they had shared. Well… happy… if they omitted those clashes over dirty socks under the bed, Merrill's potions spilled everywhere and petty things like this. On the other hand, though, those fights usually ended up with amazing angry sex.

In fact, only now Samael realized the full extent of what she had done to him. In a blind rage, feeling the blade piercing his flesh on the back again, he clenched his fist, ready to strike her down, to let out the anguish he felt after her betrayal. An eye for an eye, a pain for a pain, he thought no doubt. But yet another vivid memory intruded into his anger: the sewers and the death of his mother. He swore to himself back then, he would never hit her again and this oath made him thrust the fist into the slimy stone wall instead of the elf who was now covering her head in a helpless gesture, waiting for the impact. Suddenly Samael felt like the monster here, deserving what had happened to him. He staggered backwards and collapsed on the bed, his face hidden in his palms.

When he felt a petite hand on his shoulder, he shook it off twice, only to let it stay there for the third time, wondering how he could live on with the thought the person he cared for the most had betrayed him in such a way. But first he had to get out of here; the place was so dismal he felt he couldn't even take a full breath or think straight there.

"Take your things. We're leaving." He whispered, holding his injured hand with the other one. If Merrill was expecting anything from him, this certainly wasn't that, but she didn't dare question him.

Samael was stomping home with Merrill scuttling a few steps behind him, not a word spoken between them. To tell the truth, Samael had no idea how he felt or what should he do with her. Locking her in the mansion? Talk to her? Not talk to her? Punish her? If so, how? So many questions and no answers… what could be worse?

oOo

Late in the night, Samael was lounging in the armchair in front of the huge fireplace in the main hall, watching the flames licking the logs and not really thinking about anything. After their arrival, Merrill immediately fell asleep in the bedroom; Bodahn and Sandal were sleeping now as well and the newest guest wasn't home. Charon snored by the armchair, twitching his paws like running in the air.

Samael hadn't noticed Fawn until the elf standing right behind the armchair spoke. "Where is she?"

Samael shuddered at that voice full of hostility, but he was in no mood for games or arguing. His voice sounded deaf and bland as he finally put together a short answer, "I brought her back from the Circle. She's asleep upstairs, if you want to see her."

Fawn slowly entered the crescent of dancing light from the fire, searching the assassin's face for any signs he was joking or insulting him again. Nothing. He didn't even glance at him and Fawn could swear there were dried tears on the human's face. How demeaning to be seen like that, according to the elf's philosophy! So why he hadn't taken advantage of that, mocking the weak human, maybe throwing in some scorching comment?

Samael interrupted his musing when he jumped up, raking his fingers through the black hair veil and hissing when the injured joints on the right hand hurt. Wordlessly, Fawn pulled out grey cotton strip, snatched the hand and tightened the fabric around the palm like it was the most natural thing to do at that moment.

"Thank… you…?" Samael whispered and shrouded himself in the winter cloak, pulling the hood over the head. One last glance upstairs, where Merrill slept and he headed for the front door.

"You won't sleep here?" Even Fawn was surprised why he bothered to ask questions.

"No. Good night, Fawn." The door creaked and the assassin was gone.

oOo

"I don't want to talk about it, Fawn. Please leave it be." Merrill was pleading with him. Despite the long hours of sleep she had, dark circles remained under her swollen eyes.

"You do not understand, Merrill! Blood magic is a gift! You are wielding an amazing power now and you are getting stronger and stronger. Every pure elf should be proud of you and your abilities. In you, an ancient power of our people has returned!" Fawn's eyes sparkled fanatically as he shook gently her shoulders, like wanting her to wake up and see the truth.

"No. Wrong. Everything is wrong. I almost killed him. If we weren't in the Fade, he would be dead. Because of the blood magic. I… and that new staff…"

"So what? A small mistake like that will make you weep about what might have happened? Wake up, Merrill, he's nothing but a human. He's not like us! Don't you forget who you are and what…"

"Don't let me interrupt you," Samael said and gave them a brief bow. He had been creeping silently up the stairs and now stumbled into his mother's former room. It was midday and the elves were able to see his crumpled clothes, half-closed eyes and swaying pace. It wasn't hard to guess where and with whom Samael had spent the night since the unmistakable odour of Tevinter wine and a whorehouse was crawling behind him. Bodahn had a heap of messages for his master, but instead of reading them to him out loud as he was supposed to, he sent Sandal preparing the hot bath and slipped into the kitchen to conjure a usual hangover tray with greasy meal, hot cocoa and Anders' special potion. Oh yes, Bodahn was knowledgeable regarding Samael's needs. Merrill gulped down the tears and fled from the mansion.

oOo

In the evening, Samael went through the messages, frowning about this or that, crumpling a few of them and tossing them on the floor. Fawn, who was just passing through the hall, was close to something like a smile when he observed the grumpy mabari who carefully picked up every paper ball and carried it into the fireplace to burn it.

"Unbelievable!" Samael snorted, reading a summoning order to the Viscount's office tomorrow evening. "Bodahn!" The dwarf peered out of the kitchen and Samael reconsidered his angry attitude. What could he say? He had grown fond of the old dwarf. "Please send a word to Varric, Fenris and Sebastian. My place, tomorrow evening. Bows, crossbows and greatswords needed. Thank you."

Bodahn just nodded and went to write the messages, intending to send reliable urchins to deliver them immediately. Suddenly he stopped, addressing his master thoughtfully.

"Messere, Hawke. I went through the boxes in the basement like you've ordered me to and I think I might have found something interesting. Take a look when you have time to spare. I stashed it all in your… laboratory." Bodahn ended his statement in whispering and a conspiratorial smile which was returned along with a sardonic bow of recognition.

Samael scratched Charon's head, stood up and stretched, deciding whether going into the basement or not. "Care to keep me company, mabari?" Samael muttered to him and the dog waggled his tail in response, refusing to stand up. Samael laughed shortly and headed for the trapdoor into the spacious basement alone.

To his surprise, he found Merrill in the room he had established as his laboratory. She obviously didn't hear him coming, thoughtlessly fingering the vials stuck in the wooden rack. She hadn't been in there before and when she found the door open, she just couldn't resist taking a look what was in there; the intricate glass apparatus for the poison-making, the colorful vials, the bags stuck with both common and rare ingredients, an appealing scent coming from the gurgling copper pot hung above the fire.

"What are you doing here?" Samael's question slit the musty air, making Merrill gasp and the vial slipped out of her hand, breaking on the stone beneath her bare feet. To make the scene complete she managed to stomp on the shards, cutting her left sole. When she looked up again, Samael was right in front of her, scowling about her unbelievable clumsiness. He snaked his arms around her waist and sat her up on the table.

"Just… don't touch anything, all right?" he said. Merrill calmed down slowly, observing his dreary face. There was no grudge in his quiet voice, which was comforting. Samael wrapped her injured foot in his white handkerchief and a small blood-stain spread immediately through it.

"Samael?" Merrill whispered.

"Yes?" Samael tightened the knot.

"Could we talk?" Merrill tried really hard to hide her eagerness.

"No." Samael kicked the shards under the table, turning around and intending to leave without looking for those boxes he had come here for.

"So let me leave, Samael," was Merrill's response. She had wagered her whole fate on this little dicey stunt and, to her endless surprise, it worked since Samael whirled around and stalked back to her.

"NO! Absolutely not! You're staying here!" Only after his unwise outburst he realized how large a mistake he had just made in letting her know how deeply he still cared for her. He tried to remedy that, but they both knew the truth now. "I mean, where would you go? I wouldn't send even an enemy back into that rat-hole in Lowtown. So if you have other decent place to stay, feel free to leave, but if you don't, I mean… yes… I should look for those boxes now. If you'll excuse me…" Samael gestured towards the door; Merrill jumped off the table obediently and left the basement, musing about her unexpected little victory.

Samael burrowed himself in the pile of boxes; most of them contained the Amell heritage, but an elongated package caught Samael's attention.

He pulled off the mauled dark green velvet the package was wrapped in and weighed the wooden case; tiny tufts of grey mould were eking out an existence in the wooden cracks. When he opened the case, he found a sword hilt ended in a round hand protection. When Samael brought the hilt near the candles he saw it was coiled with ragged black leather which could be easily replaced and the hand-shield was made of entwined naked human figures twisted in agonizing poses. Amazing work of some ancient blacksmith master, no doubt.

When he strolled back to the wooden case, he pulled out the long, perfectly balanced blade. It looked like somebody deposited it here just yesterday because it was so lustrous, sharp and elegant. With one swift dexterous move Samael thrust the hilt into the proper thorn of the blade, watching the now complete weapon in awe. One would not think this self-locking connection would hold together for long, but a very resilient tool and an immense patience would be needed to dismantle it once it was locked together. The blacksmiths of old certainly knew what they were doing.

From what Samael knew about the katanas, he realized this was an exquisite piece of art, forgotten down here for Maker knows how long. His father had taught him a little about runes, just enough so Samael could recognize old Qunari writing adorning the svelte blade.

Forgetting about his sorrow over a lost lover, Fawn's confusing behavior, and the forthcoming meeting with the Viscount Dumar, Samael stripped his under tunic, swayed the blade through the air and practiced until he was utterly spent. Then he washed himself thoroughly in the already cold bath, dragged his limp body to the mother's room and slept for hours and hours, finally without any disturbing dreams.


	4. Chapter 4

"Well, shiver me timbers! Hoist the colors, Captain! If ain't it our fearless Isabela!" An old scarred pirate belched, piercing her with his eyes drowned in alcohol.

"Ahoy, you old dirtbag. How are you doing? Haven't seen you since that storm four years ago." Isabela sauntered to him, provocatively poking him with her… assets.

"So, yer doin' alright for yeaself then Izzy," he leered openly at her breasts, tongue licking over his rotted teeth. "See tha' black ship in piss stinkin' docks?" he gestured with a dirt encrusted finger, the light catching his gaudy rings. "Finest ship I never did own," he guffawed at his own humor, taking a step towards her, running a finger across the top of her impressive cleavage. "Mayhaps yer be comin' aboard, help me christen' the decks like? Sure I cun shows yer a trick or two, to please even yer demandin' appetites woman…"

"Hands off, savvy?" Isabela wiped his exploring hands off of her. "Or I'll shut yer trap afore I grab ye by the danglers and hang ye by them over the side!" She growled to underline her gesture.

"Don't be surposin' yer can help me git me a new crew together, with all yer contacts then? Or yer to busy swaggering round all yer fancy mates to help an ole cut throat like me, n' I wants sum decent sea going folks, not yer pansy assed land lovers." He stumbled backwards, collapsing on the chair again and gulping down a tub of whiskey.

"Belay that landlubber talk! Yer still the same scurvy bilge rat, ya pompous gasbag," Isabela nudged him in the ribs, glancing around, waiting for… _him_.

"And ye'll be always a saucy wench!" He pulled her closer to him, pawing her torso.

"Don't breathe at me, you mangy cockroach! You have the breath of a heated dead whale!" Isabela shrieked in false scandal. "His blessings be upon thee, you sea rat! I have an appointment here."

And at that moment, Isabela's 'date' walked through the shabby door; the elf didn't even glance at her and walked right up the stairs into her room. She sneaked right after him and when the door was closed behind her back, she just managed to whisper "Oh, Fawn!" before he ravished her.

oOo

Samael was pacing around the fireplace that was emanating soft light and soothing heat, but he was fuming. Sebastian and Varric were already there lounging in the armchairs and sipping brandy, but, damn it, where was Fenris? It wasn't like him to let Samael wait, usually he was the always ready one, but now… a half an hour delay. All right, that was it. Samael grabbed a cloak, shrouded himself with a poorly hidden disquiet, intending to find that unreliable elf and kick his ass if he should find him dead drunk.

Sebastian wanted to stand up as well, thinking they were finally about to leave for the meeting with the Viscount, but Varric knew better than that and knocked him back into the seat, shaking his head. "Eh-eh. Not yet, Choir Boy," he murmured.

Before the assassin reached the front door, it swung open and they all shivered at the cold air and a few snowflakes flowing from outside. Samael had his mouth already half open, ready to berate Fenris who reeled inside, but that he noticed the dried blood on the armor, a fresh dent on the greatsword and his trembling chin.

"You're late." Relieved that his elven friend was alive, Samael just managed to sneer and he led the pale elf inside, pushing a snifter of brandy into his hands. Fenris glanced into the library and both men walked away to talk. Varric jumped up, gulped down the brandy and pushed his ear on the closed door casually. Sebastian snorted and he would have started preaching about good old manners if only Merrill didn't storm into the hall, searching for Samael.

"Occupied, Daisy. Take a seat or wait in the queue," Varric grinned at her, gesturing towards the empty seat by the fireplace. He didn't approve of her blood magic stunt in the Fade, of course, but he could see she regretted her deed gravely and also Samael was currently giving her such a 'medicine' she would rather stab herself next time.

Merrill sighed and keeled over there, ignoring the staring Starkhaven prince sitting right next to her. It wasn't a secret Sebastian would have handed her over to the Templars a hundred times if Samael wouldn't scare the hell out of him. The enthusiastic mabari nestled his huge head on her lap, drooling in bliss when she rubbed his ears with faraway look in her eyes.

As if the mansion weren't already crowded enough, Fawn marched inside, shaking the snow out of his hair. As usual, he strolled to Merrill and kissed her hand in mute greeting. Now it was Varric's turn to ignore somebody, since… you know… you won't forget easily when somebody sticks a blade into your belly.

"I believe we haven't been acquainted yet. Please let me introduce myself. I am Sebastian Vael, a crown prince of Starkhaven." There was a bit of misplaced pride and conceit in Sebastian's voice, when he raised his hand to greet the Hero of Fereldan.

"Charming," Fawn muttered, overlooking the awkwardly reached hand. Tsss, like he could ever be interested in some petty human powdered prince! The raised voices snatched their attention however.

"… be reasonable! I won't allow you to go on your own, since you're gonna get yourself killed, you fool!" Samael accompanied his shouting with a noise that sounded like a whole damned library collapsed.

"… I'm glad I know where your priorities lay, Hawke! Thank you so much for your bewildering _support_!" A sound of quiet struggle reached their ears.

"Arrrrg, stubborn, silly elf! Like I have a choice about that meeting!"

"There's always a choice, Hawke, don't make excuses for your decisions!"

Fenris stormed out of the library and then the mansion, leaving Samael standing in the middle of the room, rubbing his temples, mumbling something about madcap elves. He crept to the gaping group.

"As you could hear, Fenris has other business to attend to right now so let's go," he nodded at the prince and dwarf. "Varric, you'll be the speaker leader since I'd just slash the Viscount's throat; Sebastian… just… don't talk to me, all right? Not in the mood for your Maker's shit right now. You're here just because the seneschal asked me to in such a captivating way." Samael pulled a nasty grimace at the prince, who scowled in return. The assassin gestured towards the front door, lacing the cloak and tightening up the leather strip with throwing knives across his chest.

"Let me go with you, Samael, please," Merrill peeped, setting her pleading eyes at him. He stopped checking on his weapons at the sound of her voice, but didn't look at her. She approached him close enough that her familiar scent filled him. He couldn't hold himself back anymore and his black leather gloved hand with joints covered with steel thorns shot out, stroking her cheek briefly in a tender gesture. He hated himself.

"No," he whispered to her when he passed by her, so nobody else could hear it. To his surprise Fawn started putting the cloak on as well, sheathing his exquisite blade by his hip again.

"I'm pretty sure we won't encounter any Archdemon tonight, mighty hero, so feel free to wallow in my bed, ogle the witch or plunder my larder." Samael used his venomous look number 3, considering Fawn's attempt to join him as banned. To his surprise, the unconcerned elf just finished dressing and walked through the front door, throwing a terse answer over his shoulder. "I could use a walk tonight."

"Great," Samael sighed, but he couldn't effort losing more time in pointless arguing, since he was late for the appointment already. He gave the fidgeting Merrill a last strange glance, which was enough to cause her pulse to race. Her widened eyes were crying inside as he walked away with his mabari at heels.

oOo

Samael observed the indigo night sky, polished by the freeze and blinking with hundreds of stars. The quiet city was sugared by the freshly fallen snow and he kept a rapid pace to the Viscount's Keep despite the weather.

Nobody talked. Samael led the group with a dolorous expression, Varric had difficulties to keep up, cursing the snow, Sebastian seemed calm and proud about being summoned as well and Fawn was marching with Charon on the tail, musing about what could the Viscount possibly want from an infamous mercenary known for his ruthless character and dubiously gained wealth.

"Stop right there!" You will go no further!" A group of hooded figures emerged around them and one of them stepped forward, making sure it was really mighty Hawke he had stopped.

Samael of course didn't appreciate being addressed in such manner; furthermore he really had no time to deal properly with those morons, whoever they were. Alas, they didn't seem they would let them walk away, so he sighed and took a good look at the leader. An awareness of power was literally dripping from him. He was a huge scoundrel with shovel-like hands, a greatsword was strapped on his back and Samael noticed he wore a Chantry symbol under his cloak, which gave the whole event a completely new dimension. He seemed like a skilled warrior and his face was scarred with old burns; there were a few spots with normal skin color though, which made him look patchy like a hyena.

The most disturbing fact was they didn't seem to stop them randomly - on the contraire. It all looked like a thoroughly prepared ambush. Twenty two people against four and the dog. Samael did the math, frowning and considering their possibilities. Fawn solved it for him when he diplomatically jabbed a blade into the nearest minion. So much for the negotiation then.

Fawn watched in involuntary amazement their leader as he threw some smoke powder to the ground and used his vengeful fury to quickly cross the battlefield to stab the distant archer right between his shoulder blades. He was moving all around the battlefield like a forgotten ghost, dispatching the enemies one by one with quick precise moves. He was everywhere, yet nowhere; untouchable and invincible. The mabari howled and started crippling the nearby enemies by shredding their legs or arms.

To Samael's disgust the Starkhaven prince hid himself behind the columns and he didn't seem he would help them. The assassin snorted, slashing some thug's throat in such a momentum the head was almost cut off entirely. Varric had noticed Sebastian's non-existent contribution as well, but he was too busy to throw in some gnawing comment.

Samael and the dwarf met in the middle of battlefield, the motionless bodies scattered around them. They both grinned, scanning the area behind each other's back. Varric would swear there was a mage somewhere, but he didn't see him. Now was Samael's turn to stare in rapture at the elven prince. He had never seen before an arcane warrior and seeing Fawn fighting with that oversized giant… He doubted he would see something that amazing ever again.

Fawn was enveloped in silver shimmering protecting shield and his sword was gashing the frosty air, pushing the retreating enemy leader into the corner. Fawn was dancing around him, mocking his attempts to behead him with powerful swings of his 60 inch long blade. He was obviously playing with him, slashing his skin here and there. When he managed to cut the giant's left ear off, they just glanced at each other with raised eyebrows. And even more when Fawn laughed and ripped the giant's belly off with his sword, granting him a slow and painful death, since he intentionally hadn't finished him off.

"If you're done glaring at him, Hawke, you are bleeding," Varric pointed out the tattered cloak sleeve, and a slowly growing dark stain beneath it.

"I ain't got time to bleed," Samael grumbled.

Varric mimicked a sardonic obeisance. "Oh, is that so… Well, you got time to duck?"

An odd urgency in the dwarf's voice made the assassin wondering for a half of second, then he ducked. Varric's dexterous hand loaded Bianca with one of those special bursting bolts he made for himself during long winter evenings and the head of reappeared mage exploded like a tomato. Its content painted a surrealistic pattern on the white stone wall behind him; it kind of looked like a beautiful blooming lily if we omit what the fleur-de-lis was made of.

Samael glanced behind him, whistling in respect. "An artist, Varric. You are… an artist."

They were still tittering when Fawn danced up to them and stood by Samael's side in a nonchalant pose, wiping his clammy weapon with a red handkerchief he stole from a corpse. The damned elf wasn't even panting!

"Hey! Chantry Boy! Stop cowering there and get your ass here!" Varric bellowed, mumbling to himself much more racy words he had for the prince. Samael's eyes narrowed, observing the serene face of the approaching aristocrat. He clenched his fingers into fists until the bones creaked and the steel thorns on the gloves flashed dimly in the moonlight.

"I beg you a pardon, master dwarf… I can't afford to get inserted into these small skirmishes, for I am the only heir of the Starkhaven throne and I should be treated with…"

Prince or not a prince, Sebastian was slammed into the wall, Samael's hand squeezing his throat. "I'll tell you what. Next time you better be fighting by my side or I personally take care of you and there won't be any heir of the Starkhaven's throne when I'm done with you. Unless they would consider crowning a headless body."

Sebastian was genuinely shocked by the way the assassin was treating him, but a naked menace in the blazing amber eyes only a few inches away from his turquoise ones convinced him to nod in agreement. Samael shook him for the last time and released the prince in disgust.

oOo

When they emerged from the Viscount's Keep, Samael was raging and swearing like even the crudest pirate would be ashamed. Maybe 'raging' was the wrong word there. When the Viscount had depleted his stock of whining and complaining, he tried to convince him to help the city by getting involved in the Qunari problem, which Samael, of course, refused in storm of scathing words and gestures. Alas, under the mewling peel, the Viscount Dumar was strong negotiator and he ended up mentioning all things he could do to turn Samael's life into hell.

"Hmm… insults and threats. Nothing like a warm, kind human word, right?" Samael kicked the heavy wooden door open and stormed off the Dumar's office. He felt worn out, the wound throbbed in pain and he felt the tiny drain of blood sneaking down his arm; the cut was obviously deeper than he thought.

To his eternal anger, yet another murderous group awaited them in the Keep courtyard.

"Shit'n'smear, not this again," Samael snarled and Fawn noticed he clenched the weeping injury. The assassin pulled out a white strip of fabric which was meant for cleaning the daggers, and tightened it with his other hand and teeth around the arm in gawky bandage.

"The Coterie..." Varric hissed and fumbled for Bianca.

"I'm warning you, Varric. If you say something like 'I told you so', I'm gonna cut you down on the spot!" Samael droned and Varric laughed.

"Spoilsport! It seems I have no other choice than to yell 'Hawke to the rescue' then." Varric continued, while the Coterie leader strolled right between the two groups and observed the scene in front of him. A dwarf with a bulldog expression, pointing his polished crossbow at his belly; some pup in armor that was whiter than the snow around and an inconspicuous bow on his back, a yawning elf dressed in some ridiculous armor full of leaves, trinkets; a beautiful blade glimmered by his hip though. Yet there was something… off… about the elf. Like a great power was lurking within him, ready to be unleashed. The leader took into his head he would take down this elf first.

Finally his gaze landed on the bristling mabari and then that scary, mighty, lyrium-contracts-stealing Samael Hawke, dirty outlander from Fereldan, standing right behind the dog. Really… what was so special about him that everybody spoke of him like he was the gray eminence of Kirkwall? He wanted to tell himself Samael was just another silly parvenu, but after he took a good look at him, he couldn't say that - to his eternal annoyance. The leader dropped his eyes, unable to confront Hawke directly for a moment.

"Messere Raen Morrell sends his regards. He asks if you wish to be buried here or in Fereldan," the thug rasped, finally able to look at Hawke again. He was satisfied when he glimpsed the bandage soaked in blood on his left arm. He who bleeds can die.

"I'm so disappointed. I hoped he would make appearance himself," Samael countered with his usual mocking voice. "Woe betide me! I guess I will have to come for him myself and pull him out of that hole he's hiding in."

"You are welcome to try, dog lord's bitch, but you'll have to go through me," the thug sizzled, swinging his short, but sharp daggers in the air.

"My pleasure," Samael had his own weapons en garde already, so had his companions. Sebastian too, to his relieve, since this would be a deadly tango for those who would dance it and for those who would sit as well.

As usual, before anybody could do anything, Samael obscured himself and his friends in the black cloud, granting them a short time to position themselves. Varric pulled back to have a full awareness of what was going on the battlefield, Sebastian ran to the columns to pick a partially hidden place for his shooting, ripping his bow from the back sheath. Fawn raised his arms, sending a pulse of white lightning across the courtyard. The ground shifted and enemies fell down like rag dolls. He slowly unsheathed his sword and his gaze followed Samael who was already on his usual lethal tour around the battlefield, dealing death, his mabari covering his back.

"Take the elf down first! Shoot him! Fucking shoot him somebody!" The leader shouted, before Fawn cut his head off, the blood splashing his silver breastplate and face. From what had happened next Samael remembered only the blood, wild parrying with the thugs, Charon's silver fur glued with Coterie remains and swooshing of arrows and bolts around him. His heart sunk when he spotted the Coterie reinforcements that arrived, mostly the archers and two mages.

Fawn watched in rapture as the Coterie preponderance shattered on Samael and the mabari like ships on a reef - he fought them wave after wave, bastard after bastard. Fawn was able to see he was bleeding heavily from an abdomen wound and was tiring. Fawn would have loved to just sneak out off the battlefield right now and light up a cigar, but he pushed Samael behind him instead, taking care of the main attack group. Samael staggered behind the columns while Varric was covering Fawn and Charon was taking care off the lying injured enemies, shredding their throats.

The assassin collapsed in the shadow of the column, right next to Sebastian who was nursing his injured leg, three dead bodies around him.

"I do hope you're enjoying yourself more than in the Chantry, Your Royal Assness," Samael smirked, pulling the cork out of the healing potion flask with his teeth, spitting the cork out and gulping down the fluid. He peered behind the column; he was able to see Fawn was in trouble before the rain of arrows made him hide again.

"Need a cover, Sebastian. Care to help me out?" This time Samael skipped the grinning part. Sebastian nodded and the assassin pulled him up on his unstable feet. Luckily the archer needs his hands more than legs, which was definitely Samael's last thought before he jumped out of the shadows.

Spinning, Sebastian appeared next to column, firing like at the shooting range, every arrow finding its target. Nice and clean job.

"I'm impressed, Your Highness! What a speed. Do you manage that with the Maker's help?" Obviously Samael wasn't wounded so badly his twisted humor would abandon him for good.

Sebastian glowered at him in reply, yelling, "Behind you, Hawke!" rather than some pungent remark.

Suddenly, a deafening silence filled the battlefield. Fawn stumbled right in the middle of scattered corpses; he wasn't wounded at all, but he looked utterly spent. Varric plodded to Sebastian, looking like a hundred year old corpse of the Paragon - his clothes tattered, Bianca scratched, hair disheveled, injured. Obviously this time he hadn't run fast enough to avoid the attackers.

Samael supported himself on the column, panting, gritting his fingers into the abdomen wound, but other than this and the arm cut, he looked well enough. Charon keeled over right next to him, licking his pierced paw, whining softly.

"I think I'll pass next night walk with you… Hawke," Fawn strolled to the group, still standing apart of them though. What happened in the next second Samael would ascribe just to his reflexes, sharpened by the hard lifelong training and the rogue abilities.

A fireball, the size of an ogre's head, hurling full speed at Fawn made Samael push the exhausted elf out of its way, but he underestimated his own weakened state and the roaring fireball hit him straight into his torso, lifting him up and slamming him into the wall where he tumbled down, motionless, wondering where's up and where's down.

The Coterie Conjurer covered in blood ended up with an arrow stuck in his forehead, a bolt peering out of his throat and the mabari tore him into twitching pieces while Fawn kneeled by the assassin, rolling him over hesitantly. He started breathing again when Samael moaned and opened one eye.

"Stupid, reckless human! Next time take care of yourself and save these suicidal acts for somebody who would appreciate them!" Fawn's harsh words were contrary to the actions of his hands, gently checking Samael's body for injuries and carefully avoiding the burns. Apparently the assassin wasn't in that bad shape since he pushed the elf away and crawled up on his feet, the stone wall helped him with it. Sebastian with Varric rushed to them.

"By the Stone, Hawke! I haven't heard a noise like that since my last and I hope only visit in Orzammar! It was the Proving tournament and drunken king Aeducan fell down on the stone stairs, taking down all of his fourteen vassals with him and they were all dressed in plate ceremonial armor!" Varric wasn't sure if he should help and support Samael or not, but the assassin looked like if he did that, the dwarf would lose an arm.

Surprisingly, Sebastian was scared again and peeped, "We should get you home, Hawke, Merrill will tend to your injuries and…"

"NO! We can't waste time with this. Varric, I need you to let Aveline know about the both fights we had, don't forget mentioning the Chantry involvement. Sebastian, you do the same about the Grand Cleric. I'll get home by myself. GO!" Samael hoped they hadn't noticed his panic about the possibility he would have to ask Merrill for help and Fawn wondered why he didn't get any order. His musing was interrupted when Samael collapsed on the snow, coughing and swearing. A few drops of blood and crimson aerosol were left in the snow.

Fawn waved them off like they should go to fulfill the orders; Varric gave him a suspicious glance before he turned the prince around and walked away. Fawn was able to hear Sebastian's whining, "Shouldn't somebody accompany me home?" and Varric's response too; he slapped him.

"You have broken ribs and pierced lung, you headlongfool," Fawn mumbled, pulling him up on his feet and steadying him. Samael was paler than the snow by now and since he didn't push Fawn's arms away again, he must have felt wretched as hell.

"Let's say… you should… thank me… for my… hospitality… and help me getting… to Darktown clinic," Samael whispered through his clenched teeth and groaned, when Fawn wrapped his arms around him and started walking. The streets were bare, the light of dawn skimming across the taller buildings. Fawn intended to remain silent, but he noticed blood snaking out of Samael's mouth and his falling eyelids. No way he would get this clumsy human to Darktown on his own if the assassin should pass out now! He wiped the blood away with his glove, trying to think of something to talk about.

"Do you like dragons, Hawke?" Fawn threw in a comment in polite conversational tone.

"What the hell… are you… talking about?" Samael coughed up.

"I liked them until one of them tried to rip me apart at the top of one nameless stronghold.

"I thought… a Warden who kills… the Archdemon… has to die, Fawn." Samael grimaced in pain but kept walking.

"Oh yes, indeed. That's why I forced Alistair to do it," Fawn sighed and again he sounded like he was talking about the interesting stone he found somewhere.

"But… you said… you killed it!" Samael glanced at him at the same time as Fawn glanced at him. They stopped and stared at each other, their noses almost touching; then continued their journey in silence for a while.

When they finally reached the clinic, Fawn seemed to be more carrying the limp rogue than supporting him. Samael's leaning on the elf with his arm snaked around his neck turned into constant smothering for the elf. Anders' and Fawn's eyes met and judging by the reactions, the mage was aware of his former Commander present in Kirkwall, but Fawn was in shock. Luckily for him, Anders averted his attention straight to the wounded assassin, helping to settle him down on the bed. Samael just squirmed, squinted at Anders and happily passed out.

"Cracked, maybe even broken ribs. Several burns. A cut on his left arm and a severe abdomen wound," Fawn listed in a perfectly _colorless__tone_. But Anders knew him well enough to notice the wave of fear and doubts that flooded the proud elf. He surely didn't count with the possibility the two of them would ever meet again. This observation was confirmed when Fawn left the clinic, after he fixed his eyes at Samael for the last time. Anders sighed and started healing.

oOo

As though the Maker himself couldn't wish a calm early morning to Anders, the shabby door of his clinic was kicked open a half an hour later and Merrill rushed in, looking around the clinic wildly. She was awakened in her bed by the unfamiliar burning sensation on her hand. When she groped the throbbing spot, her fingers twitched as she touched the ring emanating heat.

She jumped off the bed and ran to the window to meet the first sunlight while observing the ring. She wasn't able to take it off and the ring stone was burning with bright red fire while whispering to her. Merrill was taken by pure dismay and without any other thoughts she pulled on the first clothing she found and raced to the Darktown, not even questioning why she knew where Samael was.

When her eyes found him lying in the bed, she ran to him, passing by the cold Anders with his arms folded on chest. Merrill observed Samael's blood stained britches, his bare torso, rib cage wrapped in neat white bandage and his peaceful dreaming face. The deep cuts on his arm and belly turned into fading pink scars; Anders' great healing abilities worked there no doubt. Charon snored by the bed, his paw was bandaged.

Anders hadn't the heart to throw her out of there when he saw her tormented face, dark circles under her eyes, and clenched fists. Just like Fawn, he managed to just state Samael's condition. "Two broken ribs, four cracked, traumatized solar plexus, some skin cuts, some burns."

Merrill nodded without looking at him, touching the assassin's chest shyly. He stirred, moaned and continued sleeping. Anders took Merrill's elbow, leading her away from him.

"You know, I always liked you, Merrill. But what happened in the Fade… I mean… if you love him, you'll leave him. All this time I thought he had corrupted you with his insane ideas and insufferable character, but now I think it's the other way around. You should…"

"Look who's talking about the corruption! Ever since I have known you, I haven't judged your deeds! Even when you killed that poor mage girl in the caves under the city, I didn't say a word about you and Justice. And now you're going to lecture me? Fuck you! Yes, I messed up royally this time and I'm being punished every time he pushes me away, not talking to me, avoiding me and my touch. I'm going crazy, but I will make him forgive me even if that should be the last thing I would do in my life! Farewell, Anders." Merrill scooted out off the clinic, but not without stroking Samael's cheek and pulling the blanket over him.

Anders had no idea how literally Merrill meant her words.


	5. Chapter 5

"Am I bound to find you half-dead in some abomination's bed every time I let you out of my sight for a couple of hours?"

Samael stirred and it took him a minute before he was able to squint around. Everything was blurred and he felt languid and sleepy despite the fact he had slept for the whole day thanks to Anders' potion. His gaze landed on something familiar and he focused until the picture in front of him was clear and sharp.

"I don't need babysitting, Fenris. Feel free to tend to your own business and leave me alone. I had wonderful sex with that abomination last night and I think I need some sleep." Samael flipped on his other side, showing his back to the elf. He gritted the teeth when his ribs creaked in protest of this simple movement. To his annoyance, Charon's keen muzzle was there and he licked his Master's cheek, obviously glad he still had a Master.

"You look like you had sex with bunch of dragons, Hawke, no offense." Fenris tried to smile, but he knew he should have known better than to let him go just with Varric and Sebastian last night. "I came to apologize and explain, wh—"

"You don't need to explain anything to me. You said everything when you left me yesterday." These words sounded even to Samael ridiculously pouty and childish, but he was really mad at the elf and their little dispute hit him deeper than he thought it would. Unfortunately Fenris wasn't the person who would love to play little words game, so he just lowered his head in guilt and turned around to leave. Hawke obviously didn't want to see him or hear him out, so...

Fenris' arm was caught gently and the elf's lyrium burns flared for a second before he turned to Samael again.

"Fenris… just… don't go." Fenris arched his eyebrow and stared into those veiled amber eyes that had attracted him so much, but Anders came near them and interrupted that fragile contact.

The mage watched them with a jealous flash in his eyes when Fenris lay the assassin's hand back on the bed and evaporated into Darktown with a dark mumble, "Get better, Samael."

"Sooo… how are your ribs, Hawke?" Anders' gaze followed the leaving elf, then he turned to panting rogue who was sitting up, groping his still hurting torso.

"Never… felt… better… FUCK MY ASS THAT HURTS!" Samael hissed through his clenched teeth. "I thought you healed me!" He pierced the mage with an accusatory glare.

Anders just shook his head and half-smiled, helping him to stand up. "Of course I did, but I guess the freshly knitted ribs tend to hurt, you know?" Samael swayed but managed to remain standing.

"Well… thank you. I think I'm going to stumble home now to let Bodahn fussing around me." Samael tried to grin but only pain twisted his lips.

"Samael… wait. I want to ask you a favor and… something else as well." Anders looked disturbed like he didn't know how to say that. The assassin thought he knew what that was about.

"You've been patching me up for ages and… well… everybody I know… so I agree some reward is in order. So what is it?" Samael pulled his half-burnt jerkin on, watching the mage.

"I need some rare ingredients for a potion that would allow me to…" Anders started to explain.

"Is that all? Just some herbs, stones and shit like that?" Samael tittered. "I thought this would be a bag of sovereigns to fuel mages' revolution or something."

"Let me finish, you insufferable assassin!" Anders shrieked. "This is important!" He breathed out, after he calmed down.

"All right, I'm listening," Samael bowed, sheathing his blades, having a hard time to stick them into the sheaths on the back.

"I'm going to try to get Justice… out of me. And I need your help to do so. I realize I've made a huge mistake to let the spirit inside of me and I want to try to… fix this. Maybe you would like to… help me out?" Anders' pleading eyes locked with Samael's. The rogue folded his arms on chest, searching the fidgeting mage's face and he didn't obviously believe him.

"What exactly are you going to try, hm, Anders?" Samael's voice was quite, but it sounded more like 'I don't trust you, mage'.

"You know…just a few magical rituals, several ingredients of various levels of disgust and PUFF! I'm a free man." A hesitant smile sprawled on the mage's face.

"Puff, huh," Samael murmured. "Fine. Just write it down what is it you need and I'll see what I can do." Samael tried to catch Anders' gaze, but the mage averted his eyes, made the bed, and scratched his belly while whistling.

"Thank you, that's unexpected, Samael. Really. But there's another matter I wanted to discuss with you." Now Anders looked positively upset, not knowing where to look. "Fawn brought you here last night and I healed everything he mentioned with such perfection." Samael did notice a bitter undertone in Anders' voice when he talked about the Hero of Fereldan.

"But I found… on your body… I…" After this Anders' ramble, Samael's face turned scarlet and he gulped.

Shit and double shit. Samael knew exactly what Anders spoke of – his scars, hidden until now if he didn't count Merrill. He had no idea Varric figured out Samael's little secret a long time ago. They both fell silent as Samael had no idea if he was supposed to say something and Anders didn't want to dig deeper into the uncomfortable topic.

"You know what? Eeer, could we talk later? I guess you've received an invitation for that stupid masquerade, so I thought… well… Will you be there?" Samael squirmed, hoping he didn't sound eager. Much.

"Well, I had no idea you really meant that invitation, Samael," Anders' eyes widened as he took a hesitant step towards him.

"As long as you are not planning on screaming 'Every mage should be free!' from top of your lungs," the assassin scoffed, already on his way out of the clinic.

"I'll see you there tomorrow then," the mage whispered, still confused that Samael wouldn't let him finish his question.

_Anders… He doesn't believe us. We better be careful around him. He could easily mar our plan and our cause could be threatened…_

"He will kill me, Justice. Once he finds out I used him for this, I'm a dead man."

_It doesn't matter, Anders, as long as we would reach our goal! Justice needs to be done and every mage needs to feel the sunlight on the skin and free breeze in the hair again. It's worth living or dying for and you know that!_

"Yes. Yes, you are right." Anders collapsed on the empty bed, hiding his head in palms.

oOo

Samael didn't go straight home; he took a long detour with Charon, wondering around the city. Every breath he took hurt, so he needed a rest several times. They reached the docks and sat down on the same steps he had sit on before. Charon curled around him and they both stared at the pale moon and a few ships swaying on the sea. Samael's return to Fereldan hadn't ever looked more appealing than now and he let himself believe he would return there soon. Charon woke him from his musing when he nudged him with the muzzle. The message was clear – it was cold, they were both hungry and it was late. Samael stood up, patted the mabari on the head and headed for home. He hoped they would be all asleep and he would be able to sneak into former mother's quarters and at first he thought his wish would come true. But when he entered the quiet main chamber, it was more crowded than he would have expected at this late hour.

Merrill ran to him, but his pitiless glance daring her to touch him stopped her. Their eyes met for a half of minute, but no word could capture her relieve and his anxiety when he looked around the room. Fawn reading by the fire, Varric with Isabela were occupying a sofa, Aveline with Donnic were arguing about their chess game in the corner and Bodahn with Sandal peered at him from the kitchen.

"What are you all doing here?" All right, he could have figured out something funnier than that to say. Merrill pulled his damaged cloak off him and when he felt her cold hand on his arm he shuddered. Hopefully she didn't notice those goose bumps.

"What are we doing here? You've got to be kidding me, Hawke! After your impressive dance with that fireball your bones rattled inside of you, you were burnt, blood all over you. Sorry that we were curious if you're alive. That … _elf_… claimed to get you to Anders, but Daisy wanted to… be… sure…" Varric's voice trailed off when he observed the fidgeting Merrill, frowning Fawn and anxious Samael.

"Well, still kicking and breathing, as you can see. Thank you for your concern and I bid you good night." During his speech Samael was strolling towards his new room, but Varric had other plans.

"Wait! Just like that? No bragging about your damned immortality? No swearing, no drinking? And I need to talk to you about that shindig! I managed to make all needed arrangements, but…"

"Varric, please, tomorrow, have mercy on me now," Samael scowled and they all noticed his hands were clenching the ribs. Varric bowed in agreement, but his expression was clear that Samael wouldn't slip out of his grasp tomorrow; it was a party on his behalf, damn it!

"Fawn…? If I may have a word with you?" Fawn looked up at Samael's voice and since he was addressed in such a polite way he stood up and they both headed up the stairs. Samael made sure the rest of them wouldn't hear them when he turned to cold and proud elf.

"Uhm…" Suddenly Samael had hard time to find proper words. "Thank you…?" He popped out, looking at the ornate door leading to bedroom.

"For?" Unconcerned, Fawn raised his eyebrow.

"I suppose you could have dropped me in a gutter in Darktown, but you dragged me to Anders instead. From what I'm able to remember, you had to carry me by the end of our journey. So, thank you."

Fawn observed in awe Samael's shy and penitent face and just like Varric at the Gallows, he saw a young and vulnerable human in front of him, not a merciless warrior and ruthless leader. Samael received a deep graceful bow along with whispered "Good night."

oOo

Samael woke up in the middle of night, ripped out of a nightmare full of fire, ships leaving for Fereldan without him and chains. His ribs hurt like they were cracked again. He couldn't help himself and let out a choked scream, gritting his torso and musing about what could possibly liberate him from this unbearable pain. Maybe if he got high enough on that Isabela's weed… Or alcohol. Yes, definitely ten whiskey shots. Samael didn't notice the door screeched and somebody came in, until he felt a small hand on his shoulder.

"What the…!" He twitched, fumbling under the pillow. Bloody hell, he would swear there was a dagger somewhere a few hours ago.

A soothing voice in darkness made him stop his search. "Shhh. It's me, Samael. You were screaming. Are you… hurting?" Merrill could feel sweat on his forehead when she briefly brushed it with her palm and his feverish body writhing in pain. Samael was able to see just her silhouette kneeling by the bed right next to him and he nodded at her question, then realized she couldn't see his gesture, so he just breathed out, "Yes." If there was a time to play hero this certainly wasn't it.

Merrill didn't reply; she just slowly pulled down a blanket covering him, revealing his bare bruised torso. Samael snatched her hands just as he had wished for a thousand times in those last few days. She let him have them since the same thought was haunting her since Fade. After a quiet minute, Samael loosened his grasp and Merrill brushed her palms along his body, stroking it with soft long moves. Samael didn't know nor care if she just wanted to touch him or if she was learning where the pain was the worst.

"Relax," she whispered and she let her hands floating above his body. She waved her long fingers in concentration and the hands started emanating a soft greenish light reflecting in her widened bright eyes. The assassin stared in rapture at the light that was growing stronger, but a brief, unexpected pain took him. He arched the back in agony, clenching the eyelids and gripping the blanket. Then he felt a tranquilizing wave washing the pain away and he groaned, feeling his body went limp. The greenish strings of light were snaking around him and every one of them sent a pulse of peace and oblivion into his body. He fought that feeling but his eyelids were falling.

"Merrill…?" He whispered.

"You shouldn't talk, Samael. Sleep." Merrill's tender voice echoed in his ears only a little.

"Merrill… I… Don't…" Samael's voice died away and he fell asleep.

Merrill channeled her healing abilities for a half an hour, then she kissed him briefly on his slightly open mouth, forcing herself to leave. The thought that he wouldn't be next to her in the morning, that he would be cold and hostile again, was torturing.

"Quel kaima, ma vhenan," she murmured and left the room with downcast eyes.

oOo

"YOU TRAITOR! I'll make you pay for this little ruse, Xenon!" Samael roared and wrenched his new katana off the leather back sheath.

He got it just today and the repair cost him a small fortune, but the result was more than satisfying. The katana had a new sheath and there was no need to repair anything on the blade itself; it was perfect. But the hilt was pretty much wrecked and the blacksmith was desperate about the repair, telling him he didn't know if he would find somebody capable of such a job. But apparently the clinking of sovereigns was more than persuasive so here we go – the hilt core was made of magnolia tree, the wood was covered with the skin of a black ray and pliable and soft leather band along with red silk ribbon were snaking around the hilt to provide tight grasp of the weapon.

Samael was supposed to meet Xenon in some urgent matter, but when he arrived at the Black Emporium a bunch of Coterie thugs flooded the shop and the golem blocked the only way out. But something else than a simple ambush was going on since the minions didn't attack him; they just encircled him and one man stepped forward. Samael focused on a shrouded man in front of him who was now backing out of Samael's reach, hypnotizing the katana swaying in the air. The stranger was in his late thirties, older than Samael, and had a lanky figure with oblong face and lyric dark green eyes. Greasy ginger hair was slicked backwards to his skull, reaching to his shoulders. The assassin noticed a pair of long blades by his hips and judging by his nimble spider-like fingers, he would be a tough nut to crack.

"Sheathe your weapon, reckless lad, before you pluck someone's eye out," Xenon snorted impatiently. "Raen came here to talk to you, so let him… talk. Ghrh, sssss, humpf. Then you can cut each other's balls off, I don't care."

Samael shot a glare at the coughing old man, hissing, "Let me figure out, whose balls I'm gonna cut off first, Xenon! Of course, just in case you have any left, you decaying oldster. " Then he nodded at the Raen like if he had something to say, this would be a great moment to do it; his weapon was still en garde though.

"I'll make it brief for you. I am Raen Morrell. I believe you were ambushed by Coterie two days ago and they no doubt claimed I've sent them after you." Raen stood like a statue, cold, tall and proud, but it was hard to impress someone like Samael Hawke.

"Why do I have the impression that you are about to try to persuade me that it wasn't you who put those silly minions on my tail. 'Oh… it wasn't me… it was that one-handed leader of the Coterie, not me,'" Samael mocked the silent Raen, taking a step sideway to have a better fighting position.

"Try another false explanation, Raen. This one is boring." The katana flicked through the air, ending up on Morrell's throat. To the assassin's surprise, the Coterie leader just glanced at it and set his eyes back at him like no lethally sharp weapon was nicking his Adam's apple.

"I see the rumors about you were correct, Samael Hawke. You are a skilled warrior, ruthless swashbuckler and you really have no idea when to shut up, right? Please note that we didn't attack you… yet. And I really intended to just talk to you, nothing more. To answer your question, t'was my sister in fact who sent her men to tickle you, not me." Raen continued talking, watching the repositioning assassin with his astute eyes. The gloved hand gripping the katana hilt dropped down and Samael burst into genuine laughter, bending over.

"Seriously? Your sister? Ehm, that's unexpected. Can I have her in my party?" Hopefully the day will come when Samael would really learn when to shut up. Raen frowned, trying really hard to remain calm and patient with this Fereldan boy whose tongue was both silly and relentless.

"Yes, my sister. That's why we should talk. The Coterie has split into two factions; the traditional part that I lead, and a radical one, where my sister Haydée is reigning, making mess around the whole damned Kirkwall." Raen's serious face froze Samael on the spot.

"So? Cut her down and unite your precious Coterie, Morrell. Why should I care? What do you even want from me?" Samael's eyes narrowed again in suspicion.

"Nobody… will… touch… my… sister, _Fereldan_!" Raen growled, his hands scrabbling for the hilts of his own weapons.

"Fascinating," Samael yawned. "So much love for a sibling. I feel my heart is melting," Samael scoffed at Raen's protectiveness. Raen took the deepest breath he had ever taken, trying not to attack that insufferable lad right there in the shop. His superior ability of restraining himself was rewarded since Samael sheathed the katana and took a few steps towards him.

"All right, we'll talk, Raen. Bring her tomorrow night into my estate. Before you go into a stupid ramble about being at my place, there is a masquerade thrown for my business partners and friends. Lots of music, lots of liquor, lots of masks and enough time and privacy to talk. I hereby guarantee you and your… _sister_… a safe arrival and departure." Samael's eyes narrowed as he strolled right in front of Raen, searching his green eyes. "But if this is some kind of trick, I'll cut you and your thugs down and fertilize my new garden with your remains. Am I clear?" Both men gave each other burning glares, evaluating each other's words.

Raen bowed, not disturbed by a naked menace staring at him from amber eyes. "My pleasure, Messere Hawke. I'll see you tomorrow." The Coterie leader nodded at his minions, the golem stood on his usual spot again and they all left.

Samael glanced at the snoring Xenon, his bony finger remained stuck in his right nostril. The assassin rolled his eyes, laced his new black cloak and left the Emporium.

oOo

"Bodahn? Bodahn! Where's that overaged dwarf…" Samael's yelling turned into annoyed murmuring to himself.

"I'm afraid you'll have to settle for a dwarf, but not Bodahn, Hawke." Varric came out of the kitchen, smirking about the assassin's surprised face.

"There's no escape from you, is there…" Samael grumbled with a mournful expression.

"Bodahn's not here, I sent him for a few things which would put the finishing touches to our little masquerade tomorrow. And before you'd ask me – yes, you are bound to be here tomorrow and participate, Hawke. Don't you forget that this meeting would be essential for your future business!"

Samael collapsed in the armchair, pouting.

"And get that martyr expression out of your face or I'll shoot it away for you!" Varric snarled, glaring at Hawke. He requited that glare, but then they both guffawed like mad men.

"All right, dwarf. You win," Samael sighed, "you could tell me now what am I supposed to do." Varric rubbed his palms after this docile statement.

"I've arranged everything for you since I simply love this kind of shit. You, my merciless leader, are supposed to wear some pretty clothes, charm the present noble dames, paw their more than willing daughters hiding behind their feather fans, and pour liquor to every boring being who means something in this city. And, by the Stone, Hawke, please don't kill anybody!" Samael glanced at the dwarf with raised eyebrow and an innocent smile oh his lips because of that last remark, but his witty reply was gulped down since Merrill entered the room. Samael remembered the warmth of her hands and the fading pain when she had touched him in the night. Varric didn't bother to turn around and see for himself who left Samael speechless; it was more than obvious. He still couldn't fathom why Samael had to torture his sweet Daisy. Why the humans and elves were dancing around each other when the simple act of fucking was much simpler and more effective? He would never know…

Merrill halted when she noticed Samael. She was not sure if she had interrupted some important conversation and was half-expecting Samael to banish her from the chamber. He kicked himself for staring at her, turning his calm face to the dwarf again.

"Is that all, Varric?" Samael stood up, restless now when Merrill was there. She loitered in the corner by the small mahogany table where an old huge vase with the Amell symbol was, ogling Samael.

Varric bowed like that was all and smiled at Merrill on his way out. She took three hesitant steps towards Samael, waiting for him to look at her.

"What about your ribs?" she asked when their eyes met.

"Good. I mean… thank you. I was considering the alcohol or some of Isabela's weed, but your magic solved it for me. So… yes… I should go." Samael took a few steps backwards.

"Wait! This event you have here tomorrow. I wondered if you want me there since I… no invitation… or…" Her face remained serene but her eyes were pleading with him not to push her away from him again.

"Well, you do live here, Merrill. If you like to attend this charade, consider this as a personal invitation." Samael gave her a subtle graceful bow, not breaking their eye contact. "If you prefer not to meddle in this, I'll arrange a place for you to stay until this farce is over." Samael's face and words were clear considering his attitude to these kinds of events.

This was the longest speech Merrill got from him since her stunt in the Fade and her bright eyes shone in happiness. Samael saw the reply written on her face when she scuttled to her bedroom to find proper dress for tomorrow evening.

Samael's lips curled into a melancholic smile and he glanced at the mabari standing by his side.

"I really am doomed, aren't I, Charon…"


	6. Chapter 6

The Hawke estate was glowing; all chandeliers were lit up, the soft light from tall candles in silver candelabra danced in the cold draft coming from often open front door and confetti were everywhere. The refreshments were served in library from three long tables, rivers of liquor were flowing through the whole mansion and guests stood in small groups, talking, laughing and trashing each other. Only Samael's quarters and Merrill's bedroom weren't available for the guests, Samael just couldn't stand the thought they all would paw his former bedroom and his new quarters were adjusted for the meeting with the Morrells.

Varric took care of greeting the newcomers; he was charming and witty as ever in his elegant dark blue outfit and a flashy golden mask on a stick. Bianca wasn't, of course, attached to his back now, but she wasn't far, oh no. Aveline arrived with three Guardsmen, Donnic among them, and to dwarf's disgust they were all wearing uniforms.

"How charming, Aveline. Surprisingly, your mask is a plausible copy of the Guardsmen uniform of this pompous city," Varric bowed to her, cracking a joke.

"Varric… it IS a uniform and I'm here because of the work, not fun!" Aveline berated him and the dwarf just rolled his eyes and muttered something about sarcasm.

"So you DO know what a word 'fun' means, right Aveline? I wasn't sure…" Aveline shot a venomous glance at the chatty dwarf who gestured towards the library, tittering when he whispered to her, "Go feed your lackeys, Captain."

Isabela sauntered by them, smirking and emanating the power of femme fatale. She wore a rather titillating white robe adorned with red lace falling to her ankles, but revealing her chest and shoulders. Her mask was made of black lace and white feathers. Judging by the leering of various gentlemen, she disrupted the flow of things with her assets. Anders was wolfing down a tray with seafood, leading a passionate dispute with the First-Enchanter Orsino and Sebastian was taken by a thoughtful conversation with the Viscount's son.

It wasn't hard to detect Fawn, since he was encircled with several noble women and other admirers dressed in expensive clothing. The women were waving their fans and fluttering their eyelashes to snatch the beautiful elf's attention. Fawn wore something similar to his usual silver and grey armor, only it was even more marvelous, shiny and sumptuous and his exquisite elven sword was replaced with two elven daggers with emerald hilts stuck under the belt made of silver leaves. He kept a light conversation with those who – in his opinion – deserved his attention and ignored those who were unworthy.

Samael stood just in his tight breeches in front of wide open dresser, listening to buzzing of countless voices in his estate, wondering why he even bothered with all this. Damn it, he was a solitary wolf! A warrior! Not some powdered noble, bored in his mansion with a boring wife, boring children, boring… everything. Well, Varric told him why this was necessary; to get to know the right people and potential business partners.

He sighed, wishing he could just put on his usual black leather armor and sneak out of the estate, but he stared into the huge closet instead, trying to figure out what the hell was he supposed to wear. At least he would wear his favorite black color and choose an outfit that would suit him. Certainly not the latest Orlesian fashion though, bah!

The task seemed simple enough, but Samael tried things on, took them off, tossing them around him, then picked them up again, combining them together, then throwing them away in a snit. Finally he sunk into the armchair in the corner, facing the truth that he was getting nowhere with the dressing up and he observed his whole wardrobe wallowing on the carpet.

_Fuck my ass… Why I even bother with something that silly like clothing? Why don't I just put on the first black outfit, greet them all, then hide here again?__ This is my estate after all and my bloody masquerade. But… Merrill's gonna be there. I wonder what she wears… Focus, you fool! Maker, if only mother would be here now…_

It was the first time when Samael genuinely wished his mother or sister would be still there; they would know well what he should wear and he was sure lots of things would turn out differently if only he wouldn't be alone.

Alone. That's what he was again. Alone because he pushed the only person, who was able to tolerate him, away. Merrill's attempts to get closer to him again couldn't last forever, yet he continued to test her. Would he be satisfied if he should see the day when she would seize her endeavour? Or would he curse her, himself, and the day they had met? Samael felt like running away and not stopping until he dropped dead of exhaustion, but he stood up instead and headed to the closet again, this time with a properly broody expression on his face.

He was poking around the wardrobe for a while, until he finally pulled out a pair of fine silk black trousers. Well, a good start. Samael donned them and a black bag buried deep in his closet caught his attention. He reminisced his mother gave it to him, but he couldn't remember what was in there. When he opened the bag a black silk jerkin peered at him. It was cut diagonally across the chest, a band made of black leather and golden ribbons belonged to this outfit and the jerkin was heavily embroidered with golden leaves, figures and vines. There was a golden Amell crest on the back as well; not too large, because that would look cheap and vain.

Samael buttoned the jerkin up and buckled the band, so the outfit would fit well and tight. The ornamental scabbard hung by his left hip and nobody would guess the weapon inside wasn't just a pretty complement of his outfit, but a sharp and lethal katana always thirsting for fresh blood. After he slipped on the simple black leather boots with hidden throwing knives he peered shyly into the mirror. Huh, not bad, actually not bad at all. Luckily Isabela took care of his hair already, so it shone dimly in the light of several candles and five neat braids were snaking through his black hair veil. Yet something was missing…

Samael raked through the jewelry box until he found the cold black ring and he clamped it in the fist before he put it on. He observed a couple of masquerade masks that the attentive Bodahn brought there earlier and chose a simple black silk one with golden edges.

Samael strolled to the mirror with the mask on this time and watched himself for a minute.

"Smile, you prick," Samael whispered to his reflection and a sardonic smile twisted his lips before he headed for the door.

oOo

"… then I rolled over on my back and those petrifying dragon claws were just above me, ready to rip me apart. I counted the last seconds of my life, regretting that I would die this young and good looking when the dragon roared and I smelled its rotten breath. It was then when I noticed Hawke straddling the dragon's head, each dagger jabbed into the dragon's huge yellow eyeballs. The dragon bawled out in pain and I—"

"Woke up, rolled over, and continued snoring. Right, dwarf?" The dwarf telling the story twitched and the whole group gasped and whirled around to that quiet, yet piercing voice. Varric smirked, the appearance Hawke just had made was right according to those ridiculous legends that he was spreading around the Kirkwall.

"Ladies and gentlemen, let me introduce you your fearless host, Samael Hawke, the only living scion of the Amell family." Varric bowed to him and to Samael's surprise the company bowed as well. He would have loved to burst in laughter about that 'Amell scion', but somehow he was able to resist.

From the next hour Samael remembered only shaking hands, exchanging shallow pleasantries, insincere smiles and the persistent feeling of being somewhere where he didn't belong. When the main wave of introducing and greeting passed, he was finally able to breathe again and decided to take a look at his friends. But first he caught the Bodahn's arm, stopping him from his frantic scurry of making sure everything was in order, everyone's cup was full and the food was delicious and well replenished.

"Everything is well, Messere. I'm so sorry that those candles went out, but that's because of that dreadful draft and I will go immediately…" Bodahn kicked up a row, dusting a small feather out of Samael's jerkin.

"Relax, Bodahn. This… whatever this is… is meant for you to enjoy it, not skitter around stressed out if somebody would like an octopus on red wine. In case you haven't noticed I, all right, Varric, hired personnel for tonight, so try to entertain yourself and please, just keep an eye on Sandal." Samael gave the fidgeting dwarf an encouraging smile, patting his shoulder. Bodahn just nodded, distracted about the way that a maidservant was refilling the tray with cheeses, but Samael wasn't done yet.

"Bodahn… where's Merrill?" This quiet, but pressing question almost perished in the noise around them, but Bodahn knew well where she was, oh yes. In fact there was nothing that would escape the old dwarf's attention.

"Miss Merrill is sitting on the tree in your beautiful garden, Messere," Bodahn replied, unconcerned, like it was completely normal for somebody to sit on a tree in the night in a masquerade dress and mask.

"She is sitting on… what?" Samael opened his eyes wide, but his intentions to go after her interrupted the familiar deep velvet voice coming from the front door. Their eyes met and Fenris noticed a gentle smile curling Samael's lips. The assassin whispered to the waiting dwarf, "Send Isabela after her," before he marched to greet his brother. However much they were arguing lately, their meeting wasn't stained by it and Hawke's rather intimate greeting the elf drew the attention of present guests and servants as well.

"You came," Samael whispered when he reached him, surprised, relieved and insecure.

"Thank you for confirming the obvious, Samael," Fenris scoffed and his burning glance from under his eyelashes made Samael shuddering and averting his gaze.

"Feel free to tend to your business, Samael. I plan on plundering your fine Antivan whiskey stock and I'm in a mood to play with some abomination, so find me when you have time to spare." Fenris let his eyes wandering around the polished chamber and noticed in contentment that the two of them were under the fire of many eyes and many comments.

"Just… don't kill each other, all right? If something goes wrong tonight, Varric will have my scalp." Samael squeezed the familiar sinewy arm emanating the heat, leaning closer to the elf to underline his demand.

"I will behave then, don't worry. And I'll cut down anybody coming too close to your… _scalp_… Samael." Fenris leaned closer as well so his white hair blended into the black hair veil of the rogue. Samael just shook his head, teasing smile on his lips, and turned around to find Aveline. It wasn't a hard task since the clinging of her armor was rather conspicuous.

"Aveline!" Samael kissed her cheek, making her blush, and nodded at the rest of her silent crew. "Judging by your clothing and expression, you're awaiting a sudden and annihilating attack from… battery of brandy snifters and roasted pork chops?"

"Very funny, Samael. I know you well enough to know something might go wrong here and…"

"… and you're unable to relax and enjoy yourself for a change, I know." Samael finished the sentence for her. "Why don't you grab that armored toyboy and dance, huh?" Samael tittered when Aveline spluttered her drink, glanced at Donnic and her skin gained the color of her hair. "That's the spirit," Samael murmured into her ear, blinking at Donnic whose face was changing colors by the second, and continued his tour around the estate.

oOo

"Why are you squatting up there in the tree is beyond me, when there are so many interesting people around and free drinks." Isabela checked that her nipples were still covered by the thin fluid fabric of her dress.

"You don't understand, Isabela. They all look at me through their fingers because I'm an elf. They think it's humiliating to be in a company of an elf who is not serving drinks and pastry. I… I can't go in there. I don't want to. And Samael… Creators, what was I thinking!" The Dalish pariah hid her face in palms, her bare feet dangling in the air, her elegant slippers tossed in the grass under the tree along with a mask. Isabela considered the possibility of shaking the tree, pulling her leg or maybe some juicy threats… everything just to get that stubborn elven girl down.

"Look at that this way, Kitten. The whole Hawke estate is full of unmarried cunning Kirkwall bitches that are right now fluttering their fake eyelashes at Samael, pressing their bodies dressed in revealing robes onto him and sending seductive smiles towards him. All to get themselves into his bed, pop out some little Hawks and get the access to Hawke's wealth and status." Isabela used casual tone, but observed carefully Merrill's reaction. Obviously her vivid description worked since Merrill uncovered her face, her eyes widened in horror.

"Yep, welcome to the real world, Kitten…" Isabela pulled out a tiny phial from her lush cleavage and gulped down the alcohol within. Merrill opened a mouth but not a sound came out of it.

"Are you going to let them, Kitten?" Isabela went all in.

"But what if…" Merrill tried to reason with the adamant pirate queen.

"Nothing if, Kitten. You look stunning tonight. Just go in there and claim what's yours." Isabela saw rising determination in her eyes as Merrill jumped down, slipping into her borrowed silk shoes again. Isabela fastened the mask on her face and kissed her cheek.

"That's my girl," she laughed before they entered the mansion again.

oOo

Samael was engrossed in the fervent conversation about the Qunari with the Viscount's son, Sebastian and Varric. The Starkhaven prince, the enigmatic Hawke and Saemus attracted attention of the others and soon they were encircled with the crescent of devoted listeners, throwing in a comment time to time.

The crowd was parting by itself in front of Merrill and she was well aware of those admiring glances and of course, of those that judged her by her pointy ears as well. The women were making remarks about her dress, mask, partially covered tattoos and her graceful pace. When she reached the group where she had glimpsed Samael before, she took a deep breath.

_Claiming what's mine. Right. Just do it. You can do it. They aren't better than you are. I will simply claim what belongs to me._

"If I may borrow our host…?" Merrill's slightly trembling voice interrupted their dispute and literally everybody's eyes landed on the motionless Dalish pariah. Merrill was grateful for the mask since she blushed and she fought to remain still.

Merrill's appearance left Samael speechless, ogling her in awe. She had a beautiful airy gown reaching to the floor, made of several layers of white and greenish delicate fabric with low cut neckline. A jewel glimmered around her swan neck, her mask was made of black feathers and green gems and her eyes were sparkling with mossy green stars, waiting impatiently for his reaction.

Samael slapped himself mentally before anyone else would notice his astonishment and drooling. He stalked to her, offering her his arm, just like he saw Fawn doing that with his ladies. They reached the center of room which was meant for dancing, still wordless, still not looking at each other. Samael used yet another move he noted the gentlemen were using when asking a lady to dance. Merrill had no need to copy someone since her grace and charm were natural to all elves.

Both rings flared when their palms met and they begun slowly dancing. Many eyes were fixed at that extraordinary couple and not all of them approved of this reunion.

"You… look nice." An awkward quiet voice said into Samael's chest.

"And you… are wearing shoes." Samael's clumsy attempt of flattery failed, but Merrill smiled to herself and nodded. He brought her chin up with a finger, so their eyes could finally meet. Merrill was pleased when she spotted a deep admiration and scorching lust in his eyes. There was nothing, there was no one beyond them.

"A beautiful necklace." Samael traced the jewel with a finger, still drowning within her eyes.

"You should know that since Bodahn said it was from you," Merrill breathed out. "You shouldn't have-…"

"It belonged to my mother's mother." Samael's gaze slipped at the jewel; it was made of silver fibres, elaborately snaking around each other and there was an oval gem in the middle, the color of a dove blood. All right, maybe Samael wasn't looking straight at the jewel… maybe a little lower.

"Miss and Messere Morrell," Varric's insistent voice interrupted their intermezzo. The message was crystal clear and Samael closed his eyes in defeat, crushing the quiet words cursing the dwarf between his teeth.

Merrill sighed and they parted; Fawn mysteriously appeared right between them and offered his arm to Merrill, ignoring Samael's bitter glare.

The assassin marched to the hall, nodding at Raen, but the woman standing right next to him snatched his attention at once. She was tall just like her twin brother, not thin, not fat, and her dark green eyes were sly and ardent. They were both dressed properly for a masquerade; obviously intending to blend in.

Haydée Morrell had a coarsely chiseled, very interesting, unbelievably asymmetrical face. There were white broad teeth in her wide coral red mouth; she had a narrow aquiline nose and pale skin that contrasted with her dark red, fiery eyebrows and hair which was combed up into a fetching chignon. Some tidbits about her face - Haydée was able to arch her thick eyebrows into a vertiginous height, one of her eyebrows was usually higher than the other one, and left wing of her nose sometimes flickered on its own, so the woman looked more nervous than she really was. It was that imbalance in her face what made it so piquant.

"Messere Hawke, let me introduce you my sister Haydée Morrell. Sister, this is Samael Hawke." Raen glanced around in suspicion, like he was expecting Samael's servants to attack them with meat knives and forks.

"Hmmm, lovely mansion. I'm glad you're doing so well thanks to MY lyrium," Haydée uttered, her voice bored and derisive. _Filthy stealing bastard. Shove off into that shithole you came from…_

"Welcome. Make yourself comfortable." Samael smirked, squeezing her hand, observing in satisfaction when her face twisted in pain as her bones creaked under his merciless grip. _You redhead bitch, sending your minions to finish me off. Bring it on, whore of Orlais. This would be rough-and-tumble duel and I intend to win, you hoe…_

But as the evening progressed Samael caught himself dancing for the third time with her, keeping her company. Under her stern façade, she was an intelligent and sharp-witted woman, knowing what she wanted and how to get it. Samael found himself genuinely interested in her.

"C'mon Daisy, stop staring at them and-" Varric approached her, patting her thin arm.

"Don't comfort me, Varric! Why doesn't he fuck her right here on the spot?" Merrill blurted and Varric fell silent. He wasn't used to hear words like 'fuck' from her innocent elven mouth and he blamed Hawke for that.

"He'll come around, Daisy. I don't know when, but…" Varric sighed, sticking a glass of white wine into her trembling hands. "Go and eat something," Varric whispered in almost paternal tone. They were interrupted when Samael and Haydée walked by them, laughing, heading for Samael's quarters. Nobody knew Raen was already there, waiting for them. When they reached the door, Samael opened it for her gallantly and they both disappeared behind it.

Fawn strolled to Merrill, intending to avert her attention elsewhere, but Merrill just hurled the crystal glass onto the ground and stomped away. The guests dodged her and some of them would swear her eyes flickered with red flames.

oOo

"So is that all? Just give you back _my_ lyrium contracts for Kirkwall?" Samael mocked the woman nibbling the red grapes. She looked morose; she thought her charms had melted Samael's defense and she would get easily what she had come here for.

"Not exactly. I suggest you would give me back _my_ lyrium contracts for Kirkwall, you… thief!" Haydée made a mistake, letting him to provoke her.

"Let's not be harsh, sister," Raen interfered. "I believe there's a solution and I intend to find it without assassins and poisoned apples." He half-smiled and they all knew what he was talking about.

"Maybe you should find a husband for your wild sister, Raen. He might be able to tame her," Samael growled without humor this time, recalling the thugs she had sent after him already.

The woman was ready to counter with some stinging remark but she shrieked in pain instead, jumping up on her feet. Raen jumped up as well, glancing at Hawke.

"What the…?" Raen breathed out, searching the Hawke's face in suspicion and panic.

"ARGH! I… Ah! It hurts! Raen, help me! Hawke! You son of a bitch!" Haydée shouted, writhing in pain, tumbling down. She obviously blamed Hawke for that. Both men watched in rapture like an invisible claws were slashing the woman's pale skin and Samael felt sick when he recognized those familiar deep scratches. "It can't be…" He whispered, raking fingers through the hair.

"Stay here with her, Raen, I'll send a healer. Keep it quiet, will you?" He hissed and bolted from the door, followed by helpless eyes of Morrells. Samael glanced around just in time to glimpse a white gown hem embroidered with green leaves, disappearing in his former bedroom. He took a deep breath, trying to regain decorum. He strolled over to Anders who was surprisingly swaying by Fenris' side, his arm snaked around his neck. He whispered to them something briefly and they both headed for Samael's quarters – just as inconspicuously as a mage with a Fade spirit within him and an elf with blue flaring tattoos could.

"Wait! You're not going with us, Samael?" Fenris raised an eyebrow.

"I have… other business to attend to," Samael snarled and they both quivered at his macabre expression, thankful that it was not channeled their way.

Again, Samael walked gracefully upstairs, granting a smile to his guests, but as soon as he was out of their reach he almost ran to that ornate bedroom door, noticing he was about to enter the cursed room he had been avoiding since Fade events.

When he kicked the door open and slammed it behind him, Merrill stayed motionless at the opposite side of the room, staring into the mirror in silver frame hung above the dresser. Her expression was lethargic, her eyes dead. Samael had no idea he had ripped a small blade from its hidden belt sheath. Merrill felt him standing there, fuming, piercing her back, his eyes on fire. The ring on her hand twitched in anger like it wished to get off her finger which was a ridiculous thought, that a ring could actually 'want' to do something. Or wasn't it?

"Any particular reason you are trying to mar my business negotiation by murdering my guests? Or you just got bored?" He hissed through his clenched teeth.

"LOOK AT ME! Fucking look at me when I'm talking to you!" His temper erupted when she didn't move. He stalked to her and turned her around, clutching her shoulders. He grabbed her hands to confirm the obvious – fresh deep cuts on her wrists. He threw her hands away like they had burnt him. Merrill stayed silent and indifferent which made him even angrier.

"Unbelievable! Fuck!" He raged around her, regretting deeply his promise he wouldn't hit her ever again. But the promise wasn't about not killing her, right? Huh, an appealing thought. Merrill shivered and pressed her body on the furniture behind her back when he jabbed the blade into it in such a momentum he pierced through the wood and the dagger was buried down to its hilt

Merrill felt a wave of defiance and jealousy flooding her mind and she waited for him to calm down a little, then sizzled, "I haven't done that because of your stupid business, Samael!"

Silence.

"What the hell are you talking about, witch?" Samael blew a fuse, halting right in front of her.

"I… I thought… that woman! I saw you with her! It was…" Merrill's voice died away and the tears filled her eyes when she searched his face for an understanding and found none.

"WHAT? You're saying… You are just jealous?" Samael gaped at her with an open mouth. His ignorance and inexperience considering the relationships was here again, peering at them from an ugly corner.

"YES!" Merrill exploded, slapping him hard enough his head turned to left side. He slowly swiveled it back, groping his cheekbone.

"Nice right hook." A lethal menace in his quiet voice. He was struggling to hold himself back and not return this… _favor_. Merrill just panted, hitting him again. Samael's head tilted on the other side.

"You're on fire, witch." Samael sizzled, pawing yet another sore spot. "Something else on your mind?" Merrill, having no control over herself whatsoever, just snorted and her hand shot out for the third time, only to be caught in the air by Samael's hand.

"Do you think I don't know about those late night visits that my lovely elven guest grants you every damned night?" This time, it was Samael's turn to yell.

Merrill's already wide eyes grew wider in shock. "It's not… we're not… we just talk, Samael, I…" Merrill peeped, her wrath vanished. Part of her mind was frantically musing about his words. So he was jealous as well!

"I don't care with whom you sleep, Merrill!" Samael laughed mirthlessly, but his fists slammed into the dresser, trapping her between them told her otherwise.

Merrill shut him up with a fierce kiss, biting his lip and scratching his bare arms. Without hesitation she unbuckled Samael's sword belt and the katana flopped onto the carpet. Ensnaring him with her lucid eyes, she thumbed the buttons on his jerkin open. She peeled it off him, stroking his bare chest with an impatient sigh.

"Seriously?" Samael growled, not playing her game. So why didn't he stop her? Why his hands grabbed her with the same eagerness and impatience she had?

"Beautiful dress," Samael ripped it apart, revealing her beneath the tattered straps of delicate fabric. His words were lost in hungry kisses that followed. Merrill's nimble fingers unlaced his pantaloons, not bothering to take them off; just pulling them down a bit.

It was frenzy, it was madness, this addiction to her and he knew it, but couldn't help it. Merrill felt his torment, his disconnection, but she was doomed with the same curse just like he was.

"Merrill… I…" He managed to whisper between two kisses.

"Shut up. Shut up, Samael. Take me. Just… take me." Merrill breathed out, her words tickling him in the right ear.

Samael swirled her around, slamming her into the dresser and the elf was able to see his saturnine face in the mirror. She cried out when he penetrated her with one rapid and violent move, splitting her nails on the wood of furniture. Merrill gasped, tilting her head backwards to devour his lips again. Her moaning was driving him crazy as he was thrusting into her again and again. Soon he wasn't able to watch them in the mirror anymore, he felt sick: sick of this weakness she represented in his heart, sick that he had missed this so much, that he wasn't able to live without her anymore. When they both reached a peak of their lust, there was nothing in Samael's head but chaos. The rings were burning on their hands, reminding them of their bond that couldn't be shredded. He staggered away from her, leaving her there standing, panting, revealed and vulnerable.

"Samael…" She whispered, the tears standing in her eyes again. "Stay. Please, stay tonight with me. Don't leave me again… I can't… I won't…" Merrill was gulping down the tears; she was at the very edge of her strength.

Samael's slowly raised his eyes until their eyes met and Merrill glimpsed the disorder within him for it was inside of her as well.

"No." Samael shook his head, dressing himself. His eyes looked like windows with closed shutters, impenetrable and distant. "Nothing has changed, Merrill," he whispered and then he was gone.

Merrill collapsed on the carpet, naked and crying. She threw the ring across the bedroom with a furious scream only to rush for it a second later. She couldn't find it at first, but when she did she donned it back on her finger immediately, the amber ring stone blinking at her in her relief.

Nothing had changed. Nothing at all. That was her greatest fear and yet her greatest comfort. He would be there in the morning, silent, cold, and untouchable.


	7. Chapter 7

Samael was sitting on his usual spot in the docks. The mabari intended to guzzle some water, but spluttered it out after realizing it was salty. Samael smiled faintly at his snorting and rubbing his paw over the muzzle. Charon strolled to his Master and plopped down next to him.

"It's the full moon tomorrow," Samael whispered to himself while observing the ink sky and the veiled stars and stroking the warm silver fur absently.

Three weeks had passed since his masquerade ball. It turned out well considering Samael's business; Raen seemed to buy his explanation regarding that unfortunate attack at his sister and Hawke made new, well, not friends, but certainly some valuable acquaintances. About Merrill… yeah… that had definitely spun out of control. That was why he tended to his business during the day and sat on the docks steps during those shortening nights, when the spring breeze was coming from sea and nothing made sense anymore.

As much as it was humiliating, Samael ordered Bodahn to keep an eye on her, so he knew about the continuing Fawn's late night visits in her room, sometimes Merrill disappeared for hours, once she was gone for two days along with her fellow elf. Bodahn hadn't leave out his opinion that Merrill now reminded him of a ghost flowing through the Hawke estate, not eating, not talking, barely sleeping.

Samael sighed and read finally the message from the Viscount. He kept it in his pocket for two days now, unable to look at it, awaiting nothing but troubles. And here we go–troubles marching right towards the assassin–an arranged meeting with the Arishok where Hawke was supposed to take care of whatever that giant horn-head wished. Samael frowned, crumpling the parchment in one fist and tossing it into the water. It danced on the surface for a minute before a mild wave sank it.

"So you are here again… human." That hoarse deep voice would have normally made the assassin jump up on his feet, probably with some silly dagger in his hand, but not this time. He felt worn out and depressed. Not that he would like to die in the filthy docks just because some thug liked his coat, but he wasn't keen on living either right now. There was silence when the stranger obviously hadn't moved, but Samael felt his gaze on the back of his neck. He tilted his head backwards and jumped up when he saw that the huge figure was standing silently right above him.

"Who are you?" Samael breathed out, realizing the stranger was blocking the potential escape routes.

"I am… Qunari," the giant replied.

"I can see that," Samael's eyes narrowed in suspicion and he glanced around, searching for more of these creatures. The two of them were alone as far as he could tell. He collapsed back on his step; Charon grinned at the Qunari and tried to smell him, but was kicked aside. The mabari whined in pain, then bristled, ready for a retaliation. Samael just rolled his eyes, catching the mabari's collar to prevent an unnecessary fight.

"Kick him again and I'll cut you down on the spot," he growled, glaring at the confused Qunari.

"He tried to—"

"Sniff you, you oaf, nothing more!" Samael let Charon go; he sat down with pride next to his Master, watching the Qunari with a vulture expression.

"Do humans do that as well?" The Qunari seemed genuinely intrigued as he casually sat down next to the assassin. Samael had the chance to take a look at him, but he seemed just like any ordinary Qunari from their compound. Huge, muscular, grey skin, bare chest, horns of course, tight leather breeches, red paint on his torso and lifeless eyes sunken in the dark eye sockets.

"Humans usually fuck each other," Samael snarled with a bitter undertone. It wasn't hard to guess of whom he was thinking about right now.

"Fuck?" The Qunari wasn't familiar with this word.

"Forget it," Samael sighed. They fell silent, then the Qunari noticed the katana in plain leather sheath. He glanced at the human in mute question and Samael just waved his hand like the Qunari was allowed to satiate his curiosity. The fish-like eyes of the Qunari widened when the blade flashed in the moonlight and he observed the runes on the steel.

"This is a blade of my fathers, human. You shouldn't wield it. Give it to me and I will make sure it would come to its rightful master." The Qunari barely finished his mumbling when the katana was ripped out of his grasp, pointing at his throat.

"Go ahead and try to take it, _Qunari_!" The assassin hissed, realizing the standing up giant was unarmed.

"I am not able to fight you, human. You are not a Basalit-an." The Qunari folded his brawny arms on the chest, his eyes still fixed at the exquisite weapon and he didn't seem concerned about the proximity of lethally sharp steel.

"What is this Basalit-an?" What could he say? Samael was curious too.

"Do not use words you do no understand." The giant grunted and four more Qunari emerged from the darkness around them.

"Friends of yours?" Samael smirked, but his heart skipped a beat, when he observed all five motionless warriors from Seheron.

"Do not use words I do not understand," the Qunari gave him one last strange glance before they vanished.

oOo

"I'm Hawke. Let me pass for I have a meeting with the Arishok," Samael said in a rather hostile voice.

Varric nudged him in the ribs, whispering to the fierce assassin, "Sheesh, Hawke, keep your attitude in check or we will get killed before we even start."

The Qunari observed the motley group in front of him; a tall human, naked mistrust staring at him from the amber eyes, a jovial dwarf with a huge crossbow, and two elves, everybody well armed.

"You are allowed to enter, Basra._ For now_." The Qunari pulled a face at them and opened a creaking gate.

"So does anyone else feel like we're walking into a trap? Just me? Good to know…" Varric mumbled, obviously anxious.

"Keep going, dwarf, I can't do this alone." Samael growled back, but he felt uneasy as well, exploring the bleak and dark Qunari camp.

"We never go anyplace nice, do we…" Samael whispered to Fenris and he laughed despite the choking atmosphere that surrounded them.

They halted in front of something what looked like a massive pagan throne made of wood and onyx, a huge Qunari dressed in fierce armor, his horns adorned with golden ribbons, was lounging in it. The Arishok.

"Arishok ost. Araas shokra, anaan essam qun." They all turned to Fenris, surprised at his quiet words, and even more surprised, when the Arishok actually replied.

"The Qun from an elf? The madness of this… place." He snorted and the astonished Samael recognized the voice as the one he had heard yesterday in the docks.

"Impressive," Samael scowled at his brother. "Should I be jealous?"

"The day I make you jealous would be my lucky day," Fenris retorted, reminding him of the brothel visit two days ago which had led to yet another quarrel between them. Samael just rolled his eyes, putting an innocent expression on his face.

"I understand that buffoon of a Viscount sent you here, _Hawke_." This time the Arishok addressed the assassin directly and even if he had recognized him as well, Samael was sure he wouldn't show that openly.

"Yes." Samael considered this as a wise reply, since his diplomatic abilities were practically non-existent. What could possibly go wrong with one curt 'yes', right? Right.

The silence became uncomfortable, since the Arishok was scanning the motionless Hawke, the rest of Qunari were scattered around them, glaring at them, Varric was fidgeting, Fenris was watching Samael and Fawn wasn't aware of caressing the hilt of his sword while observing the Arishok. He obviously felt the same tension just like the rest of them.

"You will prove yourself, Basra, by taking this proposal to the Tal-Vashoth at the Wounded Coast. They are free to return if they resubmit to the Qun. Then you will return to me with their… reply." The Arishok's eyes flashed with a malicious fire and Samael was halfway persuaded he really should have stayed out of this Qunari problem. He would deal with the Viscount's threats somehow, he was sure of that. Alas, it seemed it was too late to cry over spilled milk.

"Sounds easy enough," Samael played the Qunari's game, bowing to him. "Out of pure curiosity… What would happen to them if they accept your offer?"

"They would all die." Surprisingly the answer came from Fenris, not the Arishok. Samael turned to him, knocked out of balance with this simple statement.

"That is… not your concern, human. Do as you have been told." The Arishok interrupted, seeing the Hawke wasn't comfortable with this revelation. Samael gulped down a witty reply and the other prodding questions he had; there would be no point in digging deeper in this mess anyway. He turned around and left the compound without a word.

oOo

"You've got to be shitting me, Hawke! No way I'm going to push my luck any further with those Qunari freaks and neither should you!" Varric was pacing around the fireplace back in the Hawke estate, stopped by the table, gulped down a snifter of brandy and continued his nervous activity.

"So you're ditching me? Now when I need you the most, Varric?" said Samael. Merrill walked cautiously in the hall, attracted by Samael's raised voice. She observed the calm Fawn, Fenris leaning on the fireplace ledge, Aveline rubbing her temples with palms and the other two, arguing.

"Not everything is about you, Hawke!" It was the first time when they saw Varric so upset. "You should have known better than to get into this Qunari mess in the first place! I'm telling you this would bring only troubles!" Varric was losing it.

"Tell me something I don't know! So now what?" Samael stalked to him, his short temper exploding. "You've got like a monopoly of common sense now? Or you're just scared shitless, _dwarf_?" Samael regretted his words right after he had said them, but it was too late. Varric just shook his head, gritted his teeth and granted the fuming assassin a serious glance.

"Come to me when you cool off, Hawke. You know… to apologize." Varric stormed out of the estate, not looking back.

"Great," Samael sighed and keeled over in the armchair, covering his eyes with a palm. The silence that followed was cut by Aveline.

"You know I can't get involved in this, Samael. As the Captain of the City Guard…" Her voice was quiet, but solid. "The Viscount would have my head on a silver plate by tomorrow morning." Samael just snorted at her words, like he wasn't expecting anything else from her. She nodded at the rest of them and left as well. Samael felt exhausted and double-crossed; everybody always expected him to help with whatever they needed, but now, when he was in need of help, Isabela, Anders, Aveline and even Varric turned their backs at him.

"When do we hit the road, Samael?" The assassin looked up at Fenris' velvet voice, a faint smile tweaking his lips. Their eyes met and there was no need to say anything else. Fenris left to get his stuff, squeezing his shoulder briefly.

"Fawn, do you think you could use a little walk today as well?" Samael turned casually at the addressed elf who scowled in return, silent, rubbing his chin, meditating.

"Last time I had this little _walk_ with you, a bunch of strangers tried to kill me, Hawke," Fawn finally replied and Samael was contemplating a proper venomous answer, when Fawn continued. "When are we leaving?"

Samael bowed in gratitude, whispering, "In an hour or so." Fawn just nodded and left to make preparations, realizing Merrill and Samael would stay alone in one room, something which he had tried to prevent lately – succesfully.

Merrill stood by the fireplace, staring at the dancing flames, impassive to what was going on. Oh, she had heard well Samael was going somewhere again, she just seized her attempts to join him or interact with him in any way.

_Come on, you coward, just ask her__. Maker, could she be any thinner than this? But this, whatever this coexistence with her is, this can't go on. It's killing me… And obviously I'm not the only one. Just ask her already…_

Merrill shivered despite the heat emanating from the fireplace when she felt him right behind her. She had a hard time to conceal her surprise the assassin hadn't left the room immediately with the others.

"Care to… come along?" Samael kicked himself for this clumsy inquiry, wondering what the hell he was trying to do anyway.

"Why?" Was her terse, inanimate reply. She turned slowly around to face him, yet her eyes were fixed on his chest. Samael felt his heartbeat in the throat, but he had no reply for that simple question.

"Forgive me." Those whispered words slipped out of his mouth before he could think them through. Forgiving him what exactly anyway? That he was unable to forgive himself? That he jerked her around, then screwed her and left her there, crying and helpless? Now that was unforgivable, but Merrill caught his arm before he could run away from her, from himself, from his silly question.

"Let me get my gear," she whispered back and left the hall. He stood by the fireplace alone, wondering about the deepest hole he could bury himself in.

oOo

"Shut the fuck up, you two!" Samael couldn't bear it anymore; he whirled around and annihilate those two insufferable elves with a scorching glare. Fenris and Fawn were regaling each other with venomous remarks and prickly questions for two hours now. The rogue led the group, followed closely by Merrill, and Charon was chasing the strange smells on the coast. The mabari had never been here before and was thoroughly enjoying it.

Fawn narrowed his eyes at Samael's harsh rebuke and Fenris was about to counter with some petulant answer when Samael stopped the group with a raised hand. Merrill, who wasn't paying attention, having issues to decide if that cloud was a bunny-shape or more like a dragon-shape, bumped right into him. Samael just rolled his eyes, steadying her after the collision, and their eyes met for a second.

"We're close," Samael whispered and a thrown Qunari spear was jabbed right in front of his feet as an answer.

"This is Tal-Vashoth territory! State your business here, human!" A hidden voice cried out.

"Show yourself first, then we talk, Qunari." Samael yelled in reply, tightening the grip on the katana hilt, leaving it sheathed for now. Three Qunari came out of the hideout, one of them stepping forward.

"I am not… Qunari." He growled, observing them in suspicion. Samael noticed he was examining Merrill longer than the rest of them.

"Yeah, whatever," Samael countered, taking one step closer. "Your Arishok asked me in his own charming way to tell you you're free to return to the compound, so consider yourself informed about this offer and farewell." Fenris chuckled from the brash speech, Fawn repositioned himself by Merrill's side just in case something should go wrong, Charon wasn't anywhere near them and Merrill wriggled under the Tal-Vashoth's scrutiny.

"I have no Arishok, human. And your life is forfeit because of doing his bidding. Prepare to die." Samael blinked at those calm and casual words, frantically trying to understand what had just happened.

"I have no quarrell with you, Qun-, Tal-Vashoth. Yet you wish to attack me." It was not a question and Samael considered his words carefully this time. If there was a way to avoid this confrontation, he would go for it and try to reason with that brute. But it seemed the horn-heads were done talking since they all pulled out their spears or swords, encircling them.

"Vinek kathas." The Tal-Vashoth leader spoke to his henchmen before ending up with Samael's throwing knife stuck in his throat. They all roared at the sight of their falling speaker and Fawn let out a pulse of bright light, granting them a moment for breaking the circle. Fenris scythed the nearest three giants, letting out an ardent war cry. Merrill slipped out of the circle, hitting an enemy standing in her way with a huge rock straight into his chest. Fawn and Samael fought back-to-back with the swarming enemies.

After ten minutes of fierce combat Samael was tired, observing the endless rows of Tal-Vashoth in dismay. He saw Fenris was reaching for his strenght reserves as well, trying to keep the enemies away with powerful swings of his greatsword and he did well so far, but it was obvious he couldn't keep this up much longer. It was then when Samael was hit with the electric bolt and tumbled down, squirming in pain in the sand, his heart racing. Fawn whirled around, wildly deflecting the enemies who were about to rip the human leader apart.

"Cut.. down… that… Saarebas!" Samael managed to groan between his gritted teeth, but there was no need since Fenris cut the Qunari mage's head off in one fluid and precise move at that moment.

"Get out of my way, princellet," Fenris snarled at Fawn, when he shoved him out of his way and pulled the panting rogue up on his feet. A choked woman's scream ripped the salty air and Samael glimpsed Merrill collapsing down in the circle of enemies. He started to cut his way to the spot where he had seen her, but it was desperately slow. Furthermore there was yet another bunch of Tal-Vashoth emerging out of the cave, yelling in anger at the sight of their slaughtered brethren. Fawn rushed to keep them away of the recovering Samael and Fenris fighting by the assassin's side. A familiar silver fur dashed by them and Samael grinned.

"Where have you been, you mangy tramp?" He cried out, slashing the throat of yet another enemy.

When the rogue glanced behind him after a minute he was captured by the scene. Fawn, surrounded by eight giants, fought in despair for his life by the cave, then he flared in bright white light and the armor slumped down, empty. An eagle rose from the circle of the astounded Tal-Vashoths, but one of them was nimble enough to stick the bird with his spear. The beautiful eagle crashed with a blood-freezing cry, disappearing over the reef edge.

"Samael!" Fenris' cry jerked the assassin from his consternation; he whirled around to see yet another peculiar scene. A figure enveloped in bright red light was ascending above the giants' heads. The blood strings were snaking around the figure and every enemy touched by them shrieked in pain, collapsing on knees.

"NOOOO!" Samael shouted, struggling through the grey bodies. Merrill. Blood magic. She would turn on him. Again. The assassin was viciously cutting a narrow corridor through the Tal-Vashoth towards her when Merrill opened her eyes at the familiar voice. His voice. But his screaming echoed in her mind only a little. He froze on the spot when their gazes met; his amber eyes widened in fear, her calm red clefts. She smiled at him mischeviously and it chilled his very core. Her staff was raying a blinding purple light.

Merrill cried out, tilting her head back, facing the darkening sky. She unleashed an immense pulse of crimson light, exterminating everything alive around her. The wave of lightning, dust and screams devoured Samael as he hit the ground and the darkness took him.

oOo

He must have been out only for a minute since the dust and sand were still whirling in the air when he reopened the eyes, coughing and squinting around. To his relieve, Fenris was swearing right next to him, pushing the dead Tal-Vashoth off him, murmuring something about the stinky carcass.

Samael shook his head and spotted the slender standing silhouette in the middle of this chaos. He climbed up on his feet, fumbling for the blade hidden in the sleeve since the katana was Maker knows where. He approached her cautiously and she watched him, serene, motionless, with her dark red eyes.

"Merrill…?" His voice was trembling. He was convinced she would attack him any second, but she didn't move, allowing him to come near her. When he stood right in front of her, a blade between them, Merrill closed her eyes and lowered her head for ten seconds in focus. When she straightened it up, the mossy green eyes were blinking at Samael again, then staring in shock at the blade pointed right at her heart, ready, just to push it inside.

They gaped at each other for a minute, wordlessly, before Merrill finally whispered, "I would never ever hurt you again." Her quiet bleeding words cut right through him. He awakened from the trance when Fenris spitted at the corpse behind his back, ripping his weapon out of it.

Samael let his hand holding a blade fall down and wiped away a blood rivulet that flowed from a cut above his left eyebrow.

"Where's that fucking bird…" he murmured to himself and turned around, leaving the baffled Merrill standing there.

"You mean that fucking dick, right?" Fenris scowled at him. "He tried to flee the battlefield if I saw that right. He would let us rot here, so why should we care now?" Fenris stood intentionally in the assassin's way.

"What? What is happening?" Merrill marched to them. "Where's Fawn?" She asked, not sure if she wanted to know the answer. Samael noticed how deeply she cared for the missing elf and a flash of jealousy ran across his face.

"He shifted into a freaking eagle and tried to fly away, but some Tal-Vashoth managed to hurt the bird. I know nothing more." He slowly replied, not looking at her. Merrill ran to the edge of a reef and there he was: his naked body coated in blood, hanging just above the chasm.

"Fawn!" Merrill cried, trying to drag him to the safety. She looked up in surprise, when a pair of hands emerged next to hers, helping her with her efforts.

"I really have no clue why do you bother, Samael," Fenris snorted, watching them with the arms folded on chest.

"Are you going to stand there forever or will you help me, Fenris?" Samael raised an eyebrow, observing if the elf would listen to his indirect order. To his relief, Fenris rolled his eyes but started to make a primitive stretcher out of the Qunari spears and leather folded by the cave. Samael smiled at him and Fenris scoffed in reply, "What? You don't expect me to sleep among these filthy bung creatures, do you?"

Once Fawn was dressed and attached to the stretcher, they left the battlefield and trudged throught the coast, the path was meandering like a pierced snake, until they reached a place suitable for a camp; covered with the rocks on right and an old holey ship on left. There was an old breakwater protecting the seashore. Fenris dropped his side of the stretcher and collapsed in the sand, panting. Merrill gave him a venomous glance for treating Fawn in this disrespectful way.

Samael lay his stretcher side gently down, inhaling deeply of the fresh air; it smelled of sea, salt and corroded iron. He collapsed right next to the elf, feeling dizzy and spent. But no rest for the wicked, right?

"Fenris, the wood for a fire. Merrill, the bedrolls." He rasped and dragged himself up to set up a few traps to protect them in the night. They went to fulfill their orders without words and soon they all sat around a droning fire. Merrill healed what she could on Fawn's body but he hadn't woken up yet; Fenris was cleaning his weapon, complaining about a fresh dent on it and Samael left the camp, claiming he would explore the surroundings.

Fenris glanced at Merrill who was fidgeting until she jumped up, trying to gaze into the darkness around them, obviously searching for Samael. She let out a sigh of relief when she found him roaming along the shore, not far from them. She knew he was injured as well and she intended to use it as a pretext of approaching him.

"Let me see the wound, Samael." The assassin twitched at her voice which had caught him off guard; another proof how wrecked he felt. They sat down into still warm sand.

"Where does it hurt? I can't see in the dark," she whispered. Hesitant, Samael placed her hand on the cut on his head, hissing in pain and shuddering when she brushed it with her fingers.

"Stop squirming," Merrill breathed out and healed the wound in no time. She noticed that the assassin was watching her in the dim green light of her healing magic.

"What happened up there?" Samael couldn't help himself and asked about her newest stunt when she was overwhelmed by the Tal-Vashoths.

"You saw it." Merrill shrugged, but she knew it was a poor reply. "I resorted to blood magic when I believed I have no other choice. But I wouldn't turn on you, Samael." Merrill assured him, squeezing his arm in urgency. "You… you do believe me. Don't you?" Her quiet unanswered question was washed away by the waves dying at the shore and turning into foam.

Just when she thought he wouldn't reply at all, a whispered, "Do I?" reached her ears. They both fell silent again and Merrill snuggled by his side, relieved when he didn't object.

"Let's go back. We need a rest." Samael whispered after a while and the half-asleep Merrill just nodded, letting him to carry her back to the fire. Fenris was already asleep, Fawn was still out and Charon was snoring, sprawled on his back.

"I bet… people would come here more often… if they called it… the Happy Coast." She mumbled, drifting off.

"Sleep, little pariah." Samael watched her falling asleep, covering her with a thin blanket. He keeled over in the last empty bedroll, but it took him an hour before the whirling thoughts in his head became blurry and he was able to sleep as well. The last thought he had was about one horn-headed ass that needed to be kicked for sending them into an ambush.


	8. Chapter 8

Charlie Bowbitter alias Charlie the Crab Claw had been the owner of Hanged Man for seven years now and nobody in Kirkwall could say they knew much about him. He was raised among the pirates only to become an infamous raider and merchant, known from Anderfels to Fereldan. What exactly got him known in the first place was no doubt killing his own father, taking over his business, and rising to power. When he disappeared seven years ago from his mansion in Antiva, his usual business partners thought he finally knocked on the devil's gate or that a kraken sank his ship along with a legendary treasure, but only Charlie himself knew the truth. From his many children he had made during his wild pirate years in every port, he chose a quiet and daring boy from Rivain and took him to Kirkwall, where he bought an inn. Corff was a grateful and witty lad and the ageing Charlie was expecting his boy would take over the business once Charlie would – by his own words – snuff it.

Samael was sitting in the dark corner of the Hanged Man, staring intently at the bottom of an empty snifter, trying hard not to meditate on murdering the Arishok. That certainly wouldn't help with the appeasement, huh? He gritted the teeth and gulped down yet another drink when that filthy Qunari's face crossed his mind again. He reminisced the moment when he, Fenris, Merrill and Charon, each of them encrusted in dust, sand and blood, stormed into the Qunari compound after their journey home. All right, maybe just Samael actually dashed inside like a mad man, the rest of them crawled behind him, thinking just about a bath, hot meal and cozy beds. Samael remembered the wave of astonishment and annoyance which flooded the Arishok's face for a second that Hawke was still standing and breathing, requesting an explanation why the Arishok had sent him to death.

Arishok had to admit, just to himself of course, that he wanted to give the Viscount a lesson, getting killed his sent puppets, but that petty fuming human standing right in front of him gave him the lesson instead. The survival of that little group was most unexpected, yet he was aware he couldn't let them know about his surprise and, yes, a small admiration as well. He banned Hawke from the compound, giving him a casual and terse reply that he would send for him if needed. It was that cold and arrogant order to leave that burnt Samael's very core, tickling his short temper. As much as it was humiliating, he became, thanks to the Viscount, Qunari's bitch. He was caught right between the Viscount's threats and the Arishok's whims.

Charlie interrupted the assassin's sulking when he brought him a grilled fish, mumbling, "On the house, Lord Hawke." Charon looked up from his bone, in hope the man would bring him another one he could bury somewhere only to try to remember where it was and dig it up again.

Samael had no idea why the old inn proprietor insisted on addressing him in such ridiculous way, but it definitely conjured a faint smile on his lips now. He had grown fond of the old man and even of his son Corff ever since he was supposed to kill Charlie Bowbitter by the order of Red Iron company. The old pirate out paid the what the Red Iron would have so Samael left him alive. He later escaped the nets of the company which led to an attempt to murder Hawke during one dark night in Lowtown.

"Many thanks, friend," Samael whispered, because that was how he felt about the old pirate; a friend. "Listen, is Varric here? I need to… talk to him," Samael finished his question, thinking maybe a little apology for his outburst was in order.

"Messere Tethras is not here and if I'm not mistaken, Lord Hawke, today's a Diamondback night back at your strange elven friend's mansion in Hightown." Charlie wiped the bread crumbs off the table, blinking at his customer.

"Ah. Right. How could I forget…" Samael muttered, leaning back in his armchair. "I told Fenris I would stop by. Or not. I don't know." He rubbed his temples.

"Problems, Lord Hawke?" a quiet question reached Samael's ears.

"Shitstorm, Charlie." Samael sighed, deciding it would be wise to stay more or less sober if he should play Diamondback tonight. The old pirate left him to his musing and it was at that exact moment when Samael acknowledged a strange feeling nagging him at the back of his nape. He knew well that feeling for it was often his only protection during those years he had spent guarding his family, killing everyone who was tagged by his father as a potential or immediate threat. That feeling had saved all of them countless times, keeping them from walking into traps.

The assassins.

A wolf in a Sunday hat is able to recognize another wolf among the sheep and this was the case. Among the whores, pimps, urchins looking for a job and customers stood assassins like small islands of coldness, the motionless beacons inside of the buzzing inn. Samael noticed the smooth stranger in delicate thin leather gloves and hood, several sorry thugs who were there just to distract him no doubt, and then there was a riff-raff of tough guys dressed in leather and steel, armed with chains and clubs. Samael could only assume what rabble awaited him outside of the inn if he happened to cut through these bastards inside. Which was, let's face it, unlikely.

Samael stood up as casually and slowly as he was able to, whistling at Charon and they both strolled to Varric's suite. Once the door was closed behind his back, Samael's mask slipped down and he raked through his hair veil in despair, pacing around the room.

_This… It can't end like this. I'm not about to be chopped into twitching pieces, not like this, not here, not now. Maker, I still have something to live__ for, I had plans. I have plans! How foolish I was when I thought Raen was satisfied with my explanation? Ah, wait. Maybe he was actually happy with my explanation. Maybe it was Haydée who sent them after me, again. Can I blame her? She was attacked at my estate after all; I myself granted them safe arrival and departure, not safe arrival and bloody departure. I must, I must… Is it possible to survive this? In the whole world I love my life and my freedom the most after all. I won't go down just like that, oh no. Poor Charlie. His inn is about to be wrecked and it's my fault, damn it!_

Samael's eyes were frantically wandering around the room, ending at the Charon who had brought a bone inside and was happily continuing his chewing on it. So, he had a katana, he had a mabari war hound, twelve throwing knives, three poisoned blades and his hands. Not bad, for a start. He rummaged through the Varric's stuff and took a few combustion grenades and healing potions made by Merrill. When a vivid image of her face popped in his mind, his heart started racing, pumping pure adrenaline into his body.

_Bring it on, bitches. I'm Hawke. And I won't go down without a fight._

Samael kicked the door open. What happened next was later known as the Spring Slaughter in Lowtown by Varric Tethras.

oOo

The first thugs were waiting for him right behind the door and Samael didn't give them a chance to wield those clubs with rusty iron thorns; they all ended up with a throwing knife adorning their throats.

The people jumped up at the sound of fight and at the river of blood flowing on the stairs. Samael rushed down the shabby staircase and a ghostly feeling filled him; it was that breathless brief moment right before the storm, when everything fell silent, the whirling dust seemed to slow down and only certain people were moving in the inn, their eyes piercing Hawke, letting him know he was the one they had come here for. Then the hell broke loose. The regulars tried to flee the Hanged Man, bumping into each other by the door leading outside, shrieking and swearing. Several Guardsmen were trying to get in, not knowing what was going on but determined to restore order. Samael had no doubts they would have stayed outside if they knew.

Hawke used this dismay and chaos to run for a cover, tipping the table over, dragging the bloodthirsty mabari with him.

"Not yet, my friend. Be patient," he breathed into the bristling mabari ear and the beast calmed down a little. The smooth hooded stranger in delicate gloves climbed on the table to get a better view and when he spotted Samael crouching in the corner he let out a victory cry, pointing at Hawke with his finger. To his horror, Samael recognized that stranger; he was Sven Sieggbard, his former companion from the Red Iron. He had disappeared in the middle of Samael's service in the company, claiming he would go to Antiva to join the Crows. Nobody had heard about him ever since and they all thought he died somewhere along the way. But here he was, the only assassin who posed a real threat to Hawke right now. The others were just amateurs providing a distraction so the real hit man wouldn't have a hard job.

One young Guardsman approached the Crow assuming Sieggbard, who was still standing on the table, was the one who had started this riot and kicked him down off the table. Samael felt sorry for the young lad since a geyser of blood splashed the ceiling in the place where Sieggbard had tumbled down; the corpse of the Guardsman resounded as it hit the floor.

Hawke immediately realized this was a perfect moment to strike back and he peered from behind his table, but several arrows hammering against the wood made him pull back again. He knew they would drive him out of his hiding place in no time and he repositioned himself behind the pillar, turning a quick somersault. Four bastards were onto him in one second. Samael deflected their furious onslaught, dispatching them one by one. Anxiety began to fill him since he had no idea where Sven was at the moment, not knowing if he had a blade with the name Hawke on it, ready to pierce his heart from behind.

A huge brute wrapped his brawny arms around Hawke, squeezing him, mumbling sappy threats into his ears. Samael managed to loosen the giant's grasp when he hit him with the back of his head for the fourth time into his face though Charon shredding the giant's calf was helpful as well. When the brute staggered backwards, brandishing his shovel-like arms, it was all that Samael needed to whirl around and jab a small blade into his left eye socket with all his power.

An arrow licked Samael's cheek, waving his hair. Hawke ducked behind the scattered chairs, but a thin, thorny chain was thrown, coiling around his throat. The thug chuckled, yanking the chain and Samael dropped down on knees, gasping for air, the thorns piercing his skin. Hawke ripped the katana out of its sheath, lashing out blindly behind him. The chain got loosened and a hand holding it was chopped off in the elbow, still stuck in the chain. Samael freed his neck, but when the thugs realized Hawke was down, chained, they howled and dashed to him like starving rats smelling blood. Samael crawled up, groping his bleeding neck, struggling for breath, when the four nearest bastards fell down with thick black bolts stuck in their skulls. Samael parried the rest of them, but in one careless move the katana was kicked out of his hand. He jumped up, his hands clenching the low ceiling beam, and he kicked his assailant straight into his torso with such a momentum, he heard the ribs cracking. As he jumped down again, something kicked him down as well and he landed on the dirt ground, slashing his palms on the shards, groaning when that somebody kicked him again to turn him on his back. Samael pierced the newest bastard with a scorching glare and to the thug's astonishment he grinned at him, spitting blood. Of course the thug couldn't see the approaching mabari with bare white long teeth, ready to rip his throat out. Hawke closed his eyes when the thug's blood sprinkled his face. He unintentionally licked his lips; the blood was thick and bitter.

Samael rolled over and crept behind the table again on all four, dragging the katana with him. Somebody was there, helping him. But it wasn't Varric's bolts. So what the fuck…? The mabari whined, returning him into the gruesome reality. Samael still had several thugs and Sven to deal with, but damn it, Sven was still waiting for a perfect opportunity, hidden somewhere here. Samael gulped down a healing potion, jumping out of the cover again. Four thugs on the left, three on the right. Hawke sent the mabari with a brief gesture to deal with the right group, throwing a combustion grenade on the left. The explosion was massive and it knocked Samael down, leaving a deafening silence afterwards. Samael coughed, but there was no time for recuperation since two others were making their way through the ruins, trying to reach him. Samael tightened the grasp on his katana and when the thugs saw his motionless figure emerging from the whirling dust, waiting for them, they gulped and glanced at each other, confused.

"Cold feet, _gentlemen_?" Samael hissed, the katana slashing the air in quick staccato. The first of them fell down with a throat slashed, his eyes widened in shock. His companion, obviously frightened about his fallen companion, dropped the sword, his hands rising in surrender, but he ended up with a blade stuck in his chest. He goggled at Samael then the blade, amazed. His face expression was worth of eternal remembering since he looked like he was about to call for the treaties about not killing the war captives.

"Over here, Lord Hawke!" Samael turned at the familiar voice coming from behind the bar, and his heart skipped a beat when he saw Sven's pale face materializing right behind the old bartender. There was nothing he could do; only helplessly watch as Sven pierced Charlie's torso with two svelte blades, grinning at him viciously.

Charlie howled, his face twisting in pain, and he managed to turn around and punch Sieggbard in his face with his ancient crossbow before he collapsed. Samael started to see through the red veil, knowing he had to kill, kill, kill, kill a hundred times Sven for ending Charlie's life; not just because he was sent to assassinate him. The last three thugs stood between Hawke and Sven who just threw a burning torch on the broken table in the corner.

Samael with the mabari by his side let out a mighty cry, challenging the thugs. They seemed genuinely disturbed that Hawke was still not just standing, but standing practically unharmed, a pure murder in his eyes. Hesitant, they stalked to him, circling around him like stray dogs around one bone. Hawke stayed still with his head slightly lowered, the hair veil obscuring his face. Charon looked up at him, puzzled if he should start his usual rampage, but the master was motionless. One of the thugs couldn't bear this little psychological game, the hand holding the sword shot out, and his head was rolling on the ground, a geyser of bright fresh blood gushing out of the headless body. The second one roared, showing his teeth to Samael, who was again biding his time, remaining silent and calm. The two of them attacked him together. The katana slashed the smoke and just a crimson aerosol was left in the air behind the collapsing next opponent.

The last of them burst out laughing as he threw the sword away which knocked Samael off balance for a second. The thug shouted something undecipherable_, _the little finger edge of his hand splitting the air as he attacked Samael with his bare arms. When the thug screamed for the second time, he had several torus fractures in his right hand and a dislocated shoulder, crowned with a blade jabbed right in the middle of his forehead.

When Samael glanced at the bar again, Sven wasn't there, but the fire was growing stronger and an acrid smoke was filling the wrecked inn. Samael dragged himself behind the bar and there Charlie was, lying in the pool of dark clotting blood. He collapsed right next to him, gathering him in the arms; the katana thudded on the ground.

Samael observed frantically the two expanding blood stains on the Charlie's doublet and the bartender opened wide his bright eyes, watching the young rogue with a calm smile on his lips. His old face was ploughed with deep wrinkles, but his eyes were still young.

"If ya… won't help… Corff… to rebuild this damned… this damned…" He whispered and tiny blood bubbles appeared in his mouth corner. Samael's throat was constricted, so he just nodded, squeezing the old man's hand.

"I need to… hear it, lad. Say… it." Charlie clenched Samael's hand with an unexpected strength.

"Yes. Yes, I will help to rebuild the Hanged Man, Charlie. Do you hear me?" Samael whispered back, shaking the withering body in his arms to underline his ardent promise.

"Aye, I hear ya. You better… keep this promise… or I will… haunt your sorry ass… if… you… won't pay for a shiny… new… inn… for my... for my…" Samael felt the tears burning in his eyes, realizing the flames were almost licking them. Charon was whining by his side, anxious.

"That bastard… would leave me here… dying slowly… painfully… in the fire." Charlie breathed out, his eyes pleading with Hawke to finish him off. Samael nodded again, gulping down the tears, positioning the last throwing knife he had against the Charlie the Crab Claw's heart.

"Give the Maker my regards, Charlie," Samael managed to smile through the tears.

**"**Ye may lay to that, Lord Hawke," the bartender rasped, his eyes hypnotizing the blade which was about to end his life. Samael pushed the knife inside with a choked sob, unable to look into those darkening eyes. A last grin froze on the dead man's thick lips and he wasn't clutching his wounds anymore, hurting; he looked… in peace.

Charon was pushed beyond the bearable point of self-preservation – his tail was on fire, literally. He dragged Hawke towards the door by his cloak, whining and snorting. Samael glanced for the last time at Charlie. In the bluish blinding flare of the spilled burning alcohol behind the bar, Charlie's corpse was twitching and shrinking in the last earthbound dance.

oOo

Samael and Charon fell out of the burning Hanged Man, coughing, crawling as far as they could from the heat of the fire. As Hawke collapsed by the distant wall, catching breath, patting the smoldering cloak hem, he spotted a tall silhouette approaching them through the smoke, dust and fire.

Sven Sieggbard, coming to fulfill his contract. How could Samael have forgotten about him? So Sven wouldn't have a tough job after all, Samael thought bitterly to himself. He was tired, burnt, spent. All he had was the exhausted mabari probably unable to fight and his katana.

Samael pulled himself up on his feeble feet, leaning on the wall, the weapon in his hanging hand. Sven reached him, a vile grin twisting his lips, observing Samael's wretched state. Despite the exhaustion Charon growled, bristling, making a few steps towards the Crow, so he was standing between his master and the enemy.

"You are doing well for yourself, aren't you, Hawke? I'm sorry I'm the one ridding the world of you." Sven sighed, looking pleased as ever.

"No, you're not sorry, Sven. And I'm going to cut you down just like the others." Samael droned, realizing his words were more like a hollow threat than the truth, which was confirmed by Sieggbard when he shook his head, chuckling.

"Come on, Hawke. Give up. Look at you. You are clapped-out, you're done." Sven threw his arms sideways, smiling at the panting rogue. He slowly unsheathed his long rapiers, swinging them in the choking air, like he was about to practice, not murder a person.

As the fighters faced off, circling around each other, the thoughts were whirling in the Samael's head in an insane tempo. The bunch of people scoured by them, attracted by the fire, squealed when they noticed the two of them were about to slash each other's throat and disappeared. Sven was obviously convinced that Samael was at the very end of his strength and he launched a vicious attack, determined to make it quick. Samael couldn't do anything but parrying wildly the speeding up attack, knowing that the first slash he was about to receive from the Crow would be probably the last one as well: lethal.

"What a beautiful katana, Hawke. Would you mind if I take it from your cooling corpse?" Sven laughed, taunting the rogue.

Samael disengaged, pulling back slightly, making an unexpected sideswipe, slashing through the Sven's jerkin. The Crow danced backwards; obviously sullen that Samael was still strong enough to fight back. The mabari tried to go after his legs, but Sieggbard kicked him right into his muzzle, stunning him. The mabari whined and collapsed on his side. Sven stomped on him, chuckling when Samael's eyes widened in fear, and leapt forward to deliver an ultimate hit. Samael dodged it with difficulty, ducked to avoid yet another slash and Sven roared in frustration, "Die already!"

"After you, half-wit!" Samael sizzled through his clenched teeth. Maybe he should have thought twice about this insult since the reply was a fierce attack, the weapons striking the sparkles, whirling bodies, silent combat to the death. Sven fainted left then right, pushing the staggering Hawke backwards.

Samael was watching like in the slowing images as Sven whirled around him, slashing his hamstring, and he couldn't believe it was really him who had cried out in pain, collapsing in the dust and ashes. An appeased grin sprawled out on the Crow's face as he was orbiting around the lying target, clapping to himself with his rapiers; Samael's blood was dripping off the one of them.

"My, my… you are one tough nut to crack, aren't you, Hawke. But I guess the best of us won this pathetic fight in the end, right?" Sven gloated.

Samael was just squirming on the ground during that speech, glancing at the mabari who dragged himself up on his teetering paws, swaying. He was also aware of the little fact that Sven completely forgot Samael still had the katana in his hand.

Samael was hypnotized by Charon, his martyred face full of mixed emotions: sworn will to live, endless fatigue, defiance to yield somebody like Sven Sieggbard, hope and fear.

"Save yourself, you fool," Samael whispered to the mabari who collapsed again, his body shaking. His voice dissipated in the frightful scream of the Crow – gathering his very last strength, Samael sliced his legs. The Sven's knee joints were cut in half and the whiteness of the bones flashed almost indecently in the dark air. Sven's howls were resonating in the night as he was grabbing what was left of his legs, staring at Hawke in shock, like he couldn't fathom what just had happened and why he wasn't able to stand up anymore.

Samael just fell backwards on his back, hissing in pain, realizing that growing almost black fluid pool he was lying in was his blood oozing out of the crippling leg wound. He crawled away of the dying enemy, scratching his palms and elbows on debris, choking on the smoke wallowing by the ground. When he couldn't go on he just collapsed helplessly by the wall, feeling his slowing heartbeat. He lingered at the edge of consciousness and he saw the most peculiar things. His father's face flowing right in front of him, telling him everything will be all right, a huge white mabari licking its paw, tall and slender doe, staring at him with big dark brown eyes from around the corner…

"Just… leave me alone… damn it." Samael mumbled; the words meant for those ghosts. "Shit… Fenris… will kill me… for not showing… at that… silly… Diamondback." With this last thought Samael gave up and closed his eyes.

oOo

"Your turn, Kitten," Isabela threw in a comment, smirking about her huge pile of coins.

When the witch hadn't moved they all glanced at her, observing her veiled widened eyes and trembling hands. When the cards fell out of her hand, they all knew something was terribly wrong. Well, all except for Isabela who was still pawing her coins, grinning to herself.

"Samael," Merrill breathed out, jumping up from her chair, knocking it over.

"Seriously, Kitten, you need to relax. We know he's giving you a cold shoulder right now, but-" Isabela's prattle was interrupted when Merrill bolted out of the Fenris' mansion, not bothering to explain anything.

Varric sighed, leaning back in his armchair and folding his cards. "Any of you care to follow that silly girl?" The dwarf snorted when nobody had moved and stood up himself, murmuring something about his old bones and their laziness. Anders joined him after he gulped down his red wine. The column of grey smoke, prominent on the sky even at night, coming somewhere from Lowtown left them speechless for a moment. Varric had glimpsed Merrill disappearing around the corner and they ran to catch up with her. She led them infallibly to Lowtown and Varric's eyes widened in utter horror as he observed the fire where he used to have a home.

Merrill was skittering around the inn which was about to collapse judging by the tortured creaking of the half-burnt columns unable to hold the roof anymore. Anders tried to catch her, but she broke his grasp, shouting the name of her lover, protecting her eyes from the unbelievable heat coming from the fire when she approached the burning ruins, determined to search them right now if necessary.

"I'm here… Merrill," Samael managed to open one eye, as he heard from distance someone was screaming his name. In the next second his torso was wrapped by her familiar arms, but his head fell back helplessly, exposing the dried pearls of blood on his throat caused by the chain. Varric made sure Samael was in good hands and he tried to convince himself this wasn't the worst disaster in his life, observing the peculiar legless corpse lying not far from Hawke.

Merrill and Anders strained their muscles, pulling the limp assassin up after a minute of healing.

"How is he?" Varric came near them, picking up the katana that was encrusted in dried blood and ashes.

"Surprisingly just a wound on his leg. We stopped the bleeding, he lost lots of blood. But I think it's nothing that a long rest and some healing couldn't fix," Anders replied, panting under the weight of the Hawke's body. Samael dreamt a curious dream about being carried through Kirkwall, familiar voices echoing in his ears. Then everything went black and he sank into oblivion.

oOo

Samael woke up early the next morning, staring at the ceiling in silence. He heard well the quiet voices and barking in his mansion, but he was alone to his relieve. His body was healed, just the thigh felt funny and stiff, but what he felt in his soul was pure disquiet and despair.

For how long he was doomed to wake up in the bed, feeling wretched after yet another fight for his life? How he was supposed to live when his life was constantly hanging on balance? He couldn't recall a single week without some fool trying to kill him and this thought alone was driving him crazy. This half-existence became unbearable for him and he climbed out of the bed, his eyes wandering around the room. He dragged his body to closet and put on the first light black leather armor he found, sheathing the Coterie shivs on his back, since the katana wasn't there. The assassin shrouded himself in the thick black cloak with a hood like he wished the cloak would hide him from the world.

All he knew was he didn't want to talk to anybody, possibly ever again. He didn't wish to be pierced by Varric's prodding questions, he didn't wish for Bodahn would fuss around him, Merrill to care about him, or Anders to ask him where it hurt. Because nobody could heal the broken soul. All he wanted was for those demons hissing in his head about his fucked up life to finally shut up. Samael used a secret corridor to leave the estate, heading out of Kirkwall without the even subtlest glance back.


	9. Chapter 9

Blood, mother's late night crying when she thought nobody could hear her, endless quarrels with his father and sudden stampedes during starless nights from filthy dubious inns. That was all Samael remembered from those two decades of his life spent with his apostate family.

The Hawke family was once again running under the cover of night, this time from the Drunken Owl inn south to Lake Calendhad. Leandra and the twins were lounging on the creaking wagon pulled by a gaunt donkey Carver had stolen three days ago and Samael was walking behind the wagon along with his father, both devoured in ardent row about which direction they should take.

Leandra stroked her sleeping daughter's dark hair, glancing at her eldest child and husband. The seventeen year old boy was already as tall as his father and had his long matte black hair and the same shaped eyes blazing in dark amber shades. Those eyes were narrowed in disagreement right now, again. Samael seemed utterly enjoying every time he could oppose his father whose short temper he had inherited along with the ability to say the most impossible things in the most inappropriate time. Malcolm was growing tired with his son's defiance and moods. Those moods usually led to him running away from his family. He always returned after one or two days – dirty, beaten, and hungry. The lad had threatened several times that he would just walk away from the family, claiming he was sick of constant running or those piling corpses of dead Templars or bounty hunters along their way. While Malcolm ended up usually shouting about Samael's duty to protect the family, Samael countered with hysteric screams that his father should teach Carver to become his personal assassin and that it was not him who the Templars were after anyway. But mother's tears and father's threats kept him in check and eventually he had accepted the way things were and that nothing could be done to change it.

"Do as you've been told, son! Keep those witty remarks of yours for yourself! If you think you're the only one who is—" Malcolm's raised voice stopped abruptly and he clutched his son's shoulder. But Samael wasn't that little boy with constantly scratched knees and he shook off his father's hands of him, interrupting rudely his preaching.

"I suggest you come to terms with the fact I'm not afraid of you anymore, _father_! I bow to no one and I serve to no one!" Samael clenched his still boyish fists, glaring at his fuming father. His passionate speech was indeed silly and maybe conceited, but understandable; yet Malcolm had a hard time to see it was him who had corrupted his son's life and Samael was everything but a normal lad.

"You will do exactly what I tell you to, you ungrateful sprog!" Malcolm lashed out at his son, gripping his wrist. But Samael meant his words, freed his trapped hand in one nimble move and ran for his small valise containing all his belongings – one spare clothing, poison and trap making sets, bedroll, and various weapons. He silenced his mother with a raised hand and then he was gone. Ah, he heard well his father's imperious shouting to come back, but his only reply was a face filled with satisfaction and perverse joy that they would be lost without him. The boy hadn't gotten far when he heard an unfamiliar noise coming from the road: woman's squealing and soon bright lights were slashing the darkness.

Samael turned back, tormented, hesitant and angry. He had been determined to leave for good this time. He was sure he would survive on his own, however young he was, and for that minute he was running away he let himself thinking he could change who he was. His little sister's screams that ripped the air left goose bumps on his skin.

"FUCK!" He spluttered finally, rushing back to the wagon on the road. Soon he was able to see his father was fighting three Templars at once, fourteen year old Carver was doing his best to keep one Templar off his mother and himself and sweet little Bethany was dragged to a horse by another Templar screaming and pleading with them to let her go.

The valise thudded on the road as Samael tore his two blades out of their back sheaths. Bethany's face and robes were sprinkled with almost black thick fluid as her brother took her abductor by surprise. He tilted the Templar's head backwards and cut his throat mercilessly only to whirl around and taunt the Carver's opponent just in time since Carver was wallowing in the dust, nursing his wounded arm. Both Leandra and Bethany dropped to their knees, praying, not able to look as Samael parried the Templar with pure fury in his eyes. The Templar was a skilled warrior and knocked easily the boy down with one powerful lunge of his shield, thrusting the blade straight into his torso. The limber lad rolled so the long blade was stuck in the dirt instead and he managed to kick the Templar down where he swooped on him, roaring in frenzy. It was matter of one second to find that precious tiny unprotected spot between the helmet and breastplate where he jabbed his blade causing hot blood to coat his fingers. The Templar was still gurgling when the lad was on his feet again, stalking to the last standing Templar, engaged in the fierce combat with his father. Casually, Samael tried to pierce his torso with both his daggers from behind, but he wasn't strong enough to get through the armor. The Templar whirled around and sneered when just a skinny boy with eyes widened in fear was standing in front of him. One Samael's dagger was trapped on his back plate armor, but the second one was still in the boy's right hand, so he did the first thing that occurred to him - sticking the blade right into the narrow slot in the Templar's helmet. A loathsome sound was echoing inside of the helmet when Malcolm's spell finished him off.

The silence that followed was deafening. Mother was with the twins still cowering by the wagon and that look Samael received from them haunted him in the dreams for years. Like he was a monster, unleashed, uncontrollable, murdering creature of the night; not a brother, son, guardian. When Samael turned back to his father, a vicious slap landed on his face, sending the exhausted boy down. Malcolm yanked him up on his feet again, pulling him close. The boy didn't fight back.

"Don't… you… dare… do… that… again," Malcolm sizzled into his ear, shaking the boy when no reply came. "Understood, son?" Malcolm pulled the black hair veil, so his son's face was looking in the sky.

"Yes, father," a quiet reply came finally; emotionless and terse. Malcolm shoved him away, rushing to his wife to help her up and heal Carver's injury to end his heroic whining.

Samael picked up his valise, threw it back in the wagon and started the routine – dragging the corpses into the woods, looting them before he concealed them under the leaves and dirt. Silent tears were drawing tiny lanes on his dirty cheeks. He knew he couldn't leave his family, but neither could he stay.

oOo

Samael squirmed, snuggled into the thick cloak. He had been wandering under the bare trees of the Kirkwall outskirts for four days now, watching nature as it began to wake up in response to the early spring. When he was hungry, he hunted down an animal. When he felt like sleeping he wrapped himself into the cloak and slept at the first protected place he found. When he felt like crying he cried, not afraid somebody would see him this way. The assassin rolled over on his other side and the dream transformed into yet another memory he had.

oOo

"Come on, son. For how long do you want to pout?" Malcolm came to Samael who was sitting alone on the dead tree trunk, far from the fire where his family had settled for a night.

The boy didn't reply, but his defiant face and puckered were reply Malcolm came here for, observing his son carving something into the wood with a knife. Malcolm sighed and sat down next to him. Samael was only fourteen, but he was already skilled in poisons, traps and a whole year had passed since he killed his first Templar. Not that the boy would have a choice in this.

"You know well Carver is just jealous, my son. He's only eleven, he's a child." Malcolm was then quiet for a minute, realizing Samael was just a child as well, yet his once innocent smile had been replaced with a merciless sneer that chilled Leandra's heart and his dreams were tainted by those who had died by his hand.

"You should be the wiser one, Samael. You do know your brother didn't mean what he said to you. He's just—"

"A moron!" Samael hissed, jabbing the blade into the tree trunk.

"Hey! I thought I was clear about not addressing your siblings in such way!" Malcolm squeezed his son's shoulder to underline his reprimand and their eyes clashed.

"Yeah. Whatever." Samael growled, trying to pull the knife out of the wood.

"You need to keep in your mind that this is, we are, your only family. Nobody will accept and love you like we do, son. It doesn't matter how tense the relationship with your brother is, you are brothers. And you always will be, Samael."

The boy sighed another "Whatever," staring at his feet.

"You need to learn how to forgive people around you, son. If not, you'll be alone your whole life, because sometimes I think people live just to make mistakes every day. And every one of us wishes to be forgiven. The day will come and you will wish somebody close to your heart would forgive you for something you've done wrong."

"But—" the boy objected, not knowing really, what he should say.

"Just think about it, Samael. That's all I ask." Malcolm patted his son's back, strolling back to the fire.

oOo

Several curious beasts in the forest came to sniff Samael's little camp but they quickly faded back into the night. There was soothing silence at the glade interrupted only by the croon of some night bird and bare tree branches swaying in the mild breeze.

A silhouette of tall and proud doe slipped through the meadow, disappearing in the group of trees. But no deer came out; a human-like figure emerged from the shadows, sneaking towards yet another group of trees. When a sparkle coming from the dying fire illuminated the figure, the silhouette froze on the spot, glancing around. When nothing moved, the figure crouched next to the sleeping Hawke, watching him for long minutes. Finally the stranger's hand crept out of the shroud, but before the fingers could touch the black ring on the assassin's hand, Samael's own hand shot out, snatching the pale hand reaching to him.

The stranger gasped, both of them stared at each other for a few seconds, then the stranger tried to free his hand, unsuccessfully.

"Never touch a sleeping assassin, because he probably doesn't sleep." Hawke hissed, pulling the stranger's hood down with his other hand. "What are _you_ doing here?" Samael breathed out, surprised.

"I felt like merging with the wild part of my soul tonight," an unconcerned voice replied and the stranger sat down next to the rogue, who had finally let go of his hand.

"So you do have another part than the wild one? Huh…" Samael sneered. "Just like that, sneaking through the woods, stumbling over me? I don't think so. How did you find me, Fawn?" Samael sat up, leaning on the tree behind him.

"I didn't." Fawn chuckled.

"Who did then?" Samael yawned.

"Merrill." They both fell silent after Fawn's short statement.

"Is she… here?" Samael whispered when he couldn't stand the silence anymore.

"No." Fawn stared at his own slender hands.

"Why not?" Feeling disappointed, Samael demanded an explanation.

"I convinced her to go back. I promised I would talk to you." Fawn replied, obviously satisfied with his persuasive abilities.

"I see," the rogue's quiet reply was taken by the breeze.

"You left quite a mess behind you, Hawke. Here I thought you can't be any stupider, yet you forced half of Kirkwall to search for you. There are bets you're dead, you're back in Fereldan or the Coterie captured you. I guess nobody would think you're hiding in the woods like a coward, wallowing in your ridiculous sorrow." Fawn stretched his long legs, lighting up a cigar.

Samael was taking a deep breath, ready to counter with some pugnacious comment, but… why? Fawn was right after all. He was hiding from the world, lost in his thoughts, lost in his memories, prowling the Kirkwall outskirts with no intentions to go back any time soon.

"Speaking of cowards, Mahariel, I have an impression you tried to flee the battlefield. More like fly away, actually. Tsk, tsk, that doesn't sound like a Hero of Fereldan, oh no." It was Fawn's turn to scowl about the assassin's mocking voice, and his hand found involuntarily the mended wound on his belly where the Qunari spear had pierced him. He also wanted to come up with some witty reply, but just like Hawke he realized there was nothing but truth in those words.

"I… like my life. You can't blame me for trying to keep my head on my neck when eight brutes with horns were trying to kill me." Fawn's words were firm, yet oddly hesitant; like he was trying to convince Hawke and himself as well he hadn't done anything wrong at the Wounded Coast. The long silence that followed was interrupted when the assassin pointed out the elf still didn't explain his reason to be there.

"I wanted to inform you I'm taking Merrill out of this musty city soon," Fawn's quiet words left Samael speechless and he jumped up, glaring at the elf. He struggled to keep himself from attacking the plotting elf, because, Maker, a good fight would certainly help with letting out some steam. Samael asked the only thing that mattered to him. "She… agreed to go with you?"

"Oh no," a casual reply came, "but she will." Samael looked in astonishment at the relaxed elf; that certainty in his voice was both disturbing and annoying.

"Please go away, Fawn." The elf looked up at the rogue in surprise, expecting the human would argue, yell, insult, anything but this quiet, sad plea. Actually he felt angry the assassin wasn't about to wrangle with him, so he just stood up, blew the smoke in Hawke's face and vanished into the night shadows.

Samael collapsed down on his sleeping spot again, pulling the cloak tight around him. His distant eyes were hypnotizing the horizon until the dawn. He let himself roaming through the woods for one more day, trying to convince himself to go back to Kirkwall.

oOo

Before he reached the city, Samael pulled the hood as low as he could, hiding carefully the tattoos and easily recognizable long black hair. Darkness covering him, he slipped into his estate through yet another secret corridor leading to a basement, listening for a minute to the silence in his mansion. When he concluded the mansion around midnight was probably asleep, he entered the main hall. The warm silver fur knocked him almost down as Charon bounced around his master, sniffing the unusual odors of forest emanating from his clothing. Samael smiled at Charon's genuine joy, patting his head.

"Missed me, my fuzzy friend? Ah, at least somebody did. Or did you make a bet I'm dancing with Andraste too?" he laughed softly, when Charon licked his cheek. Hawke turned around, only to face the old silent dwarf, his arms folded on his broad chest and his jaw set. Samael couldn't remember if Bodahn had looked that peeved before.

"Fuck… an inquisition," Samael sighed, trying to smile at the dwarf. The dwarf just shook his head, observing the dirty cloak, a leaf in the black hair waterfall and a mud trail Samael had left behind him and his filthy boots.

"Rivain stuffed turkey breast with potatoes and Nevarran red wine, Messere?" Bodahn asked with perfect courtesy, gulping down the comments about his master's recklessness and thoughtlessness about disappearing right after the fire, leaving no note about why he left or where he went.

"MAKER, YES!" Hawke actually felt like eating the whole turkey. Fresh meat cooked on open fire like what he had been eating had its charms no doubt, but this sounded much better.

After a third portion of delicious meal Bodahn pushed him straight into the nearest bathroom and Samael scrubbed himself in the bathtub filled with steaming water and lavender foam. All he was able to think of was his cozy spacious bed and a whole night and day meant for sleeping. Alas, the bed in his new quarters already had one softly snoring occupant. Samael stood above Merrill's figure snuggled into her usual sleeping position reminding him of a curled animal, a tender smile running across his face. He just rubbed his tired face and left the room intending to keel over in Merrill's bed in the master bedroom, the one he once shared with her. Of course, just for this occasion, nothing more, right? When he was able to smell the herbs on her pillow he just smiled to himself and fell asleep immediately.

oOo

"Mother fucking fuck, that hurt!" Samael hissed in pain when he finally managed to open the well-secured window of the Morrell's mansion. He literally fell inside, ripping his forearm on the sharp window edge – it was certainly humiliating for a rogue as skilled as Samael.

He left his estate in the early morning when he realized he couldn't talk to Merrill, not after what Fawn had said in the woods. He spent the day hidden at Fenris' mansion. He was more than glad to have his assassin just for himself so he decided not to answer any knocking on his door that day. When Samael stood up in the evening, serene, satisfied with a peaceful day in the elven warrior's company, he wished to stay there forever. Alas, one social call needed his attention.

"You do realize it's Wicked Grace night, right, Hawke? We're playing here since you burnt the Hanged Man to ground," Fenris threw in a comment, eying Hawke as he searched for his jerkin just in his leather breeches, scratching his head when he couldn't find it. At the husky voice of his elf Samael turned to him, surprised, when his jerkin was dangling on the elf's long finger, a teasing smile on Fenris' full lips. The assassin stalked to him, grinning, when the elf's hand holding his clothing pulled back when he reached for it.

"All right, all right. I'll come back to play tonight, I promise," Samael sighed, demanding his jerkin with an impatient gesture.

"Like you promised five days ago and ditched me, right?" Fenris scowled, flinging the jerkin at the rogue. Samael caught it and rolled his eyes, not bothering to explain again that he was delayed with such insignificant thing as a little attempt to assassinate him.

"I'll be back, Fenris," Samael whispered and slipped out of the mansion to investigate who had sent those hit men. He ended up standing in the darkened room in the second floor of the spacious Morrell mansion, waiting for his eyes to adjust to darkness inside. After he searched the room he had intruded he realized it was probably Raen's study and he chose a dark corner with a comfortable armchair to wait for him. The door finally opened after a half an hour. He watched intently as Raen just in his linen clothing went through some papers, lighting up a single candle. The weapons Hawke had found in the room were all under the armchair, just in case Raen would choose less diplomatic way of their conversation.

Raen yawned, stretching, his silhouette prominent in the light of a candle and Samael chose this moment to let him know he wasn't alone.

"That was most unwise, Raen." Samael said loudly, his voice slow and emphatic. Morrell whirled around, searching for the intruder. When he spotted Samael's shadowed face emerging from a dark corner he made a few steps backwards for the blade adorning the fireplace but there was none.

"Looking for something?" Raen recognized his own blade in the Hawke's hand, still not saying a word. They stared at each other for a minute and Raen calmed down, realizing Hawke would have killed him already if he came there to do that.

"Care to explain why you are here? In the night, in my locked mansion, and in my locked study?" Samael tittered at Raen's bitter undertone, then remembered why he came.

"I'll ask just once Raen. Did you send those assassins after me or not?" Samael asked slowly, searching carefully Raen's face for his reaction. He knew the answer before Morrell could reply, disappointed the archenemy was still hidden.

Morrell's reply was also slow, calm and convincing. "No. I believe you have many enemies, Hawke. If I needed to get rid of you, I would have done it myself because I respect you." The reply left Samael speechless for a moment, then he regained his usual self.

"My, my… now I feel special. I have an unlovely message for you, Raen. I will take your sister's life tomorrow. I am telling you this because I respect you as well." Samael stalked closer to Morrell, intending to punish Haydée for this second attempt to kill him.

"NO! Hawke, don't! I promise I'll talk to her. It won't happen again, you have my word! Just… let's talk. Yes, we can talk this through." Samael arched his eyebrow during Raen's ardent speech, admiring his love for a sister against his will.

"Raen… I… I can't ignore this. I can't live like this anymore. Knowing she won't stop until my guts are nailed to her bedroom's door." Samael threw his arms sideway, shaking his head.

"That was… an interesting metaphor, Hawke. But please reconsider. I'll make sure nothing like this would happen ever again. Well, at least not ordered by me or my sister."

Samael couldn't believe Raen was actually pleading with him and he felt awkward. He was surprised when he heard himself saying one terse "All right," then observing Raen's relieve, feeling relieved as well from unknown reasons.

"But I'm warning you, Morrell. Despite our mutual respect, the next foul trick coming from your sister and she's dead." Raen nodded at this quiet warning, knowing he and Haydée needed to talk. A lot. In the meantime Samael strolled to a window, jumping nimbly on the marble parapet again like it was the most natural way of leaving a mansion.

"You sure you don't want to leave through, you know, door?" Raen laughed at the young man's crouched pose.

Samael grinned back, whispering "I prefer it this way." When Raen blinked, the assassin was gone and only a window yawning at him was the witness of this unusual night encounter.

oOo

"He'll be here, right? You said he would be here, didn't you? So where is he?" Fenris silenced Merrill's eager ramble with a raised hand, sneering at her anxiety.

"You have no right to ask anything about him, witch. Not after what you've done to him." Fenris couldn't resist and used every opportunity he had to remind her of her deed in the Fade. Merrill shrank back like a small helpless animal that was kicked just like every time Fenris decided to torture her with this memory.

"Leave her be, you lout," surprisingly it was Anders who had defended the poor girl piercing the lyrium warrior with a scorching glare.

"Ah, of course. The abomination and would-be-abomination have to stick together, right?" Fenris looked straight to Anders' eyes burning in blue flames.

"Knock it off, you two!" Aveline entered their dispute, gesturing towards the chairs at the opposite side of a table, so those two hot heads wouldn't sit near each other. Varric guffawed when they actually listened to her, sitting down obediently.

"Come sit with me, Kitten," Isabela yanked the girl on her lap and Merrill landed there with a surprised squeak. They had been sipping a wine for an hour with Sebastian taken by a serious debate with the Captain, Donnic and other Guardsman. Varric was goading Isabela to get at some risqué details about her love life and Anders debated with Merrill about herbs after he had apologized for the words he had said to her in his clinic about leaving Samael.

The conversation was spontaneously dissipating when Sebastian glanced around the table, asking all of them, "Could you tell me if Hawke is coming here? I need to discuss with him the Viscount's order. I heard he left the city without a word, is it true? Perhaps—"

"Perhaps, he's back in the city, Vael, but he's hiding from you and your prodding questions." They all turned to door at the sound of Samael's voice and there he was, leaning on the doorframe in nonchalance. Hawke observed the collection of faces around the table – Anders had a light smile on his face, Varric just glanced at him coldly, reminding him he still owed him an apology, Isabela and Fenris were grinning and Aveline gave him a nod along with a light smile. Samael's eyes involuntarily hesitated at the Merrill's expressive face, but she averted her gaze when their eyes met.

"Maker, I bet good coin you were back in Fereldan, Serah Hawke." Donnic sighed, but then he lightened up again. "Well, at least you're not, you know, dead." Samael chuckled at those clumsy words, bowing to blushing Guardsman and sat down next Fenris.

"So? Who's winning? Or didn't you play tonight?" Samael asked cheerfully, though his facial muscles were protesting when he tried to smile.

Varric said, "I wanted to wait, Hawke, since I intend to leave you coinless and naked when I'm done with you tonight." Samael blinked at the dwarf's harsh words, smirking at him like he was welcome to try.

"Or I could challenge our princelet in drinking contest to see if he got better at it since our last clash," Samael laughed, feeling like he could waste himself tonight into oblivion. The whole table was poking the prince and Hawke, cracking jokes and reminiscing about Norah's nice ass and Sebastian's loss.

"I challenge you, Samael." A quiet, yet steady voice interrupted the hilarity and they all shut up, searching who had said that. When they found out it was Merrill they burst out laughing like it was the best joke ever. How could a skinny elven girl, who was drunk after one drink could match such a sipper like Hawke? But they all fell silent one by one when they saw Merrill wasn't joking and Samael wasn't laughing. His face darkened as he searched her determined face, confused as to why she would say something like that.

"I win, you'll forgive me. I lose, _nothing would change_." Merrill set up the simple rules, reminding him of what he had said to her after the masquerade ball. Samael's face twitched when he understood her statement. He was musing about his dream actually. Was it just a coincidence that his father spoke of forgiveness? Suddenly he realized how much he wished Merrill would win and he would be able to forgive her just like she had forgiven him his many ill deeds. But, Maker, how could she win? He realized everybody was waiting for his reply with their mouths hanging.

"Challenge accepted," Samael mumbled, still piercing Merrill with his blazing eyes. They both stood up at the same time like an invisible power yanked them out of their seats. Samael pulled out two bottles of the strong Antivan brandy along with two snifters from a cabinet in the corner and they both strolled to a distant small table, away from the group. Samael just didn't dare looking back at his friends, too afraid what he would see. And they were staring at them indeed, having no clue what it all meant.

Samael poured the first round, looking up at Merrill when he pushed the snifter in front of her. She was able to see a raw grin tweaking his lips and she closed her eyes for a second like she was making sure this was really what she desired. Merrill snatched the glass and gulped down the brandy, her eyes set on the man she loved.

oOo

After an hour the group of friends was trying really hard to play the kick-ass Wicked Grace game tonight, but their eyes kept wandering to those two stubborn lovers. They were motionless, silent, drowned into each other's eyes. They gulped down drink after drink and continued in their silent duel.

"What the hell is Samael doing?" Varric leaned to Aveline, whispering, watching those two pigeons with a badly hidden disquiet. Aveline sighed in reply; she was worried as well, but not as much as she worried about her coins.

Samael watched Merrill as she had the next drink in her trembling hand, forcing herself to gulp down the loathsome fluid. She shuddered when it burnt her throat and leaned backwards in the chair; her eyes veiled, her cheeks pink, feeling dizzy and sick.

"Ready to give up?" Samael whispered to her and she was able to see through the drunken veil Samael still looked… normal.

"Never," Merrill breathed out, pouring the next round, her hands were shaking and she spilled the alcohol on the table. Samael's sad eyes watched her when she gulped down the next drink, her face twisting in disgust and pure pain. She moaned and the snifter cracked on the stone floor. Samael reached across the table to catch her limp head before it could hit the table edge and he laid it tenderly on the desk, brushing the hair off her face. He glanced around in despair, realizing they were under the fire of their friend's eyes. Raking through his hair Samael pulled his cloak on and strolled out of the mansion, feeling their gazes on his back.

"Have I ever told you, this young Serah Hawke is… _hiccup_… the most peculiar person in Kirkwall? I mean does he do anything in the way the rest of us do?" Donnic folded his cards, his eyes swimming in alcohol looking around like the answer was hanging in the air. "Not to mention his many clashes with the law and… bloody hell he's back!" Donnic squeaked, pointing at the front door.

Samael stormed into the mansion again. Merrill groaned when he lifted her, holding her in his arms. Samael shot a glance at his friends, realizing they were all gaping at him again. "Just… I forgot something here." He muttered, leaving the mansion again. The short journey back was interrupted three times when Merrill vomited, only half-conscious of what was happening around her.

"So much for a romantic reunion then," Samael sighed to himself, when he lifted her again, keeping a rapid pace home. Bodahn was frightened when he came to greet his master and spotted the pale, sleeping Merrill in his arms.

"Is Miss Merrill all right? Is she hurt? Should I call a healer?" Bodahn rambled, genuinely worried about the elf.

"She… doesn't feel well, Bodahn. Well, I mean, hm, she's drunk as hell, nothing more. Relax, damn it." Samael growled and didn't dare look at the dwarf who had a pure outrage in his eyes. "Just prepare a bath please."

Merrill opened her eyes several times during the bath, but she always just moaned and squirmed, squinting at Hawke before falling asleep again. When she was properly clean, Samael gave up an attempt to dress her since he had no idea until now how difficult it was to dress a sleeping person. He just carried her to bed, hesitant what he should do next. At last he tucked her into the blanket.

"You won, my little pariah," he whispered finally, slipping under the blanket as well and pulling her as close as he could. Maker, it felt like coming home.


	10. Chapter 10

**This is a black day for Czech and Slovak Republic. Four of our best hockey players died today in airplane crash near Jaroslavl, Russia.** **We all will grieve for you and we are really pissed off you left us so young and talented.**

**Josef Vašíček,  
>Karel Rachůnek,<br>Jan Marek,  
>Pavol Demitra.<br>****  
>Rest in peace. You won't be forgotten.<strong>

"Maker created Bodahn's chocolate pudding, then He rested for seven days, stuffing His holy belly with it." Samael closed his eyes and put the last spoon with pudding into his mouth in reverent silence. Merrill giggled and put a finger coated in chocolate into her mouth as well. It was morning and Samael was sitting on a huge bag of flour in the larder, leaning comfortably on the wall behind his back. Merrill was straddling him, clinging to him like he could disappear any minute. Samael wore just his unlaced breeches and Merrill had just grabbed a blanket before they sneaked in there, hungry after morning bed exercise. Merrill's blanket was now coiled around her waist.

"Do you feel better, my little pariah?" The spoon tinkled on the stone floor and Samael pulled her even closer, wiping away the chocolate smudge she had around her mouth.

"I feel… good." Merrill breathed out into his ear with a dreamy expression, bursting in genuine laughter afterwards. "That potion of Anders' really is a small miracle, isn't it?"

"Tell me, did you really think you could actually win yesterday or were you just looking for a way to snatch my attention?" Samael laughed softly as well, tracing her backbone with a finger.

"I think… both?" Merrill pulled back and smiled back at him. "I mean, it worked, didn't it? You're here and you aren't going anywhere...?" Merrill finished her sentence with a hesitation. Samael shook his head about that half-question, half-statement.

"No. I'm not going anywhere. Well, not without you at least. Listen, Merrill, what did Fawn mean when he said he was going to take you out of the city?" Samael frowned suddenly, watching her.

"Oh. Did he really say that? I… well… I told him if things should go badly with you, that… but it doesn't matter now." Merrill blurted out, trying to snuggle closer again, but Samael stopped her. His words were very quiet when he broke the long silence that followed.

"You told him you would leave with him." Samael lowered his head and it wasn't a question.

"Yes, Samael, but you're not listening to me! I would never ever l—" A slow kiss stole her next words. Merrill moaned and felt her desire rising again. If somebody told her she would spend the rest of her life here in the darkened larder with her lover, she would be perfectly content with it. Maybe she would just ask for yet another bowl of Bodahn's pudding. When they parted finally, they were both breathless and panting.

"I think… I will steal you instead, Merrill. What would you say if I intended to leave Kirkwall, let's say in a few months, when I have all business wrapped up here? I won't lie. Since my arrival to Kirkwall I've been thinking about returning back to Fereldan, back… home. But now it appears I can't leave without you so… ehm… yes. What do you think? I mean… would you go with me?" Samael actually blushed, realizing he was babbling.

Merrill stayed still for a moment, watching the unusually fidgeting Hawke. "I have no clan anymore, Samael. We do have friends here, but, you know. But when I came to the alienage and then… you appeared in my life. But before, when we met at the Sundermount, I mean… What if we just… but that's stupid." Merrill pulled through her usual incoherent ramble when she tried to give shape to her whirling thoughts – unsuccessfully.

"I heard yes." Samael laughed at her restlessness, but waited what else she had to say. But Merrill just smiled with a wide, liberating grin and nodded.

"By the Paragon Varen, Messere Hawke! That was a dessert for the lunch today!" Bodahn peered inside, bending his arms in a tragic gesture above an empty pudding bowl. Merrill squeaked, tugging for a blanket with such a vigour it fell on the stone floor, revealing them both. The dwarf just rolled his eyes and slammed the door closed, mumbling something about he had a nug to cook

"Enchantment?" asked a familiar voice full of hope.

"No, my boy. We can't blow up the larder just because the landlord ruined my delicious and nourishing lunch." Samael was sure the dwarf wanted him to hear that, but he just guffawed until they both fell down from their flour bag. Just like Merrill, he felt… good.

oOo

Samael almost passed by the house he was looking for. The inconspicuous two-floor mansion was right between the Hightown and Lowtown and Samael walked through the creaking wicket when he made sure he was really at the right place. When nobody answered the door, Samael just shrugged and let himself in, walking slowly through the silent rooms until he reached the chamber where the fire was crackling. A person sitting in the comfortable armchair didn't even look up at the intruder, so Hawke just sank next to him into the armchair. The room was adorned with many beautiful weapons from all around the world, hanging on the walls, there were several bear furs on the stone floor and there was a sombre painting above the fireplace, capturing the ship with torn sails in the middle of the raging sea.

"I always hated the sea, Lord Hawke. When I was a little boy, my mother always told me the sea was the reason why my father visited me only twice a year. And, Maker, I sat at the shore every damned night, throwing pebbles into it, hoping the ship would appear on the horizon with my father's colors." Corff finally turned his blank face to the silent Hawke, piercing him through with his bright eyes. Samael noticed they had the same color as Charlie Bowbitter's eyes.

"Nothing I say will diminish the pain over a lost father, Corff. And I think if somebody would be able to do it, it would be even worse because it would mean you didn't love him." Samael himself was surprised at his quiet and reasonable voice and even more, when his words conjured a faint smile on the Corff's lips.

_Samael Hawke, a mercenary who kills anybody anytime if the price is good enough, an inept lyrium contracts stealing merchant and… a comforter. Huh, that's certainly new for me._

"Why are you here, Lord Hawke? I don't blame you for what happened in the inn." Corff said after a moment of silence, interrupting Hawke's solemn musing, and this simple statement indeed astonished Hawke.

"You… don't? But those assassins were there because of me. The Crow who burnt the Hanged Man to ground was hired to take down me." Samael's hesitant words died away as Corff shook his head in vehemence, pouring two snifters of whiskey.

"Don't worry – it's a better stuff than I sell at the inn. More like sold at the inn." Corff's words were bitter suddenly and he gulped down the golden liquid, shuddering. Samael gulped down his drink as well and put the glass back on the small table along with a chock-full pouch which clanged. Corff understood and shook his head again.

"Keep your gold, Lord Hawke. My father left me a small treasure, so there's no need—"

"I bet that old cunning sea rat left you a fortune, but I promised, Corff. You need to take it or Charlie would haunt my sorry ass, by his own words." Samael's mouth corner twisted up, as he was reminiscing about the Charlie's last words and his relieved face, when Hawke promised he would help Corff. Young Bowbitter just shrugged like he won't argue about a willingly given gold and Samael stood up, intending to leave.

"He had called you a bastard from Fereldan several times, usually after some fight you provoked at the Hanged Man." Corff whispered more to himself than to Hawke, his voice was colorless and lost in memories.

"Ehm. Yes. I've got that a lot." Samael replied, feeling awkward.

"He had called you a bastard from Fereldan and he wanted you to have his ship, Lord Hawke." Corff looked up at Hawke, who froze on the spot after this statement.

"Are you sure?" Samael asked, not believing that for a second.

"It is written in his testament. I'm the heir of all his estates, trade manifests, various contracts - all but his ship. I'm glad you'll have it, Lord Hawke. My father knew I wouldn't set foot on the decks anyway." Corff managed to give Hawke a mild grin.

"Is it that cockleshell in the Kirkwall docks with a name _Crab's crap_ on the side?" Samael had to laugh when he was able to remember the peculiar name of the Charlie's ship and Corff rolled his eyes, but nodded. It wasn't just an ordinary boat, oh no. It was not very large, but unbelievably quick old ship with several comfortable cabins. The masterpiece of old shipwrights from Llomerynn.

"Find me if you need me, Corff." Samael whispered finally, squeezing the lad's shoulder briefly, but Corff's hand caught his and their eyes met.

"Did he… did he suffer?" Corff's voice was husky and filled with sorrow. Samael was able to see the suppressed tears standing in the boy's eyes as he recalled two deep stab wounds on Charlie's torso, the eternal pain in the bright widened eyes, the dizzying stench of his pierced guts mixed with fresh blood, the possibility that Charlie would burn inside of his inn still alive, if Samael hadn't finished him off first. Was it really necessary to burden the lad with gruesome details about what had exactly happened before Charlie died?

"No, Corff, he didn't suffer. All he cared about in the end was you. Farewell." They both bowed to each other and Samael literally fled the mansion. He leaned on the front door, panting, searching the night sky for answers that had tortured his mind for years. The name he whispered before he slowly headed home was his father's name.

Merrill just glanced at his tormented face and moist cheeks after his arrival and she dragged him into their bedroom, undressing him wordlessly. She carried the clothing into bathroom and when she came back, Samael held his silver knife in his right hand, staring at it intently, leaning on the dresser with his other hand. Merrill saw the burning disquiet inside of him, she saw very well the hungry need in his eyes, need to relieve from the memories that was crushing him, from the ghosts of past that kept haunting him. She slowly pried the knife out of his doddering hand and put it back right on its spot in the drawer. Samael let her push him to bed where she was cradling him in her soothing arms until he fell asleep.

oOo

Samael woke up late at night when the thick log in the fireplace cracked and sent up a flaring cascade of sparkles. Merrill squirmed when he freed his flat arm from under her head and mumbled, "That doesn't prove anything, Isabela…" A tender smile tweaked Samael's lips about her usual night narration as he climbed out of the bed, not really knowing why he did that, listening to the silent mansion. Silent, if he omitted almost inaudible steps in the main hall. Samael opened the door a crack, peering outside, when a muffled "Ar'vanima" reached his ears. Hawke put down a blade he already held in his right hand and slipped out of the bedroom, creeping down the stairs. Fawn was fiddling with a massive lock on the door leading to his room which the meticulous Bodahn had sealed as he was ordered to.

Fawn finally realized his efforts were futile – he was no rogue after all – and he lost his repose, jiggling the lock. Samael couldn't believe he was able to sneak right behind the elf's back, unseen, and he ascribed it to Fawn's desperate attempt to get his stuff back, locked in the room.

"Need a hand with that, Fawnie?" Samael purred into the elf's ear and watched, guffawing, as Fawn whirled around, his eyes wide with fright and shame that he was caught during such a humiliating act.

"I would appreciate if I could pick up my things and leave this place." The elf regained his usual impenetrable expression and the arrogant undertone in his smooth voice tickled Samael's short temper.

"Not so quickly, elf." Samael approached the fidgeting Fawn, who was obviously uncomfortable with the closeness of a half-naked human.

"What? You're going to hold me a prisoner in your pitiful mansion, Hawke? Where's the legendary hospitality of Fereldans? Ah, wait, I forgot you humans are all the same. Same bloodlust creatures without manners, purpose, or dignity." Fawn spluttered out, taking a step back from the silent Hawke.

"Speaking of dignity, Fawn, was it honorable to be caught in the middle of night, breaking into your generous host's estate, trying to steal Maker-knows-what beside getting your things back. It wasn't demeaning at all, right?" Samael saw the rising wrath in the lifeless black eyes in front of him.

"How dare you accusing me of stealing anything!" Fawn's voice was quiet, but a pure outrage was burning throughout his words. Samael already noticed he had this effect on the elf every time they talked to each other.

"Errr, let me think. Isn't it what you're doing for living? Murdering the poor travelers and looting their bodies and caravans?" Samael chuckled and his muscles tensed. He awaited the elf's attack any second.

"Pah! A ruthless mercenary and petty thief won't lecture me about how I'm supposed to live!" Fawn lashed at the assassin.

"Oh, let at least that mercenary to call you a liar claiming you slew the Archdemon when it was our future king who died a hero there!" Samael enjoyed the astonishment and pure murder in the elf's eyes as he snorted and tried to slap the cheeky human for his insulting words, unsuccessfully. Samael dodged, dancing backwards, laughing openly at the elf. A small valise Fawn had on his shoulder thudded on the stone floor.

"All right, Hawke. I saw this coming from the very moment our paths had crossed. Let's settle this for once and all." Fawn threw away his silver cloak in a dramatic gesture, unbuttoning his leather jerkin. Samael bowed sardonically in expectation, stretching and watching the elf.

"Come on, elf. Put down the sword. Let's fight man-on-man like gentlemen. Also, Bodahn would kill me if he had to clean up your blood." Samael whispered and he wasn't smiling, not at all. Fawn nodded and hung the jerkin carefully on the door knob. Samael completely ruined the almost ceremonial atmosphere and revere silence before the fight, when he bended over hooting with laughter, pointing at the tattooed fawn on the Fawn's chest.

"Oh please, let me fondle that little pretty fawn!" Samael missed the first punch and he was wallowing on the floor before he knew it. He groped the sore spot on his left cheekbone, grinning at the fuming elf, who was approaching to punish the young man who was constantly mocking him since the day they had met. Samael waited for him to come closer, pretending he was knocked down for good, but then – one nimble kick and the elf was crawling right next to him, swearing. They fought on the ground for several minutes, but Fawn was aware he would end up pinned mercilessly on the cold floor if he wouldn't get out of the human's grasp right away. He twisted Hawke's arm until the elbow joint protested and Hawke roared in pain. He did the only thing that occurred to him, his mind veiled with pain, and he crushed the elf beneath the full weight of his body.

"Get… off… me, you oaf!" Fawn gasped, beating the human helter-skelter. Samael jumped up on his feet in an unexpected swift movement, kicking the elf's torso with all his might. Fawn moaned and crawled away. When Samael grasped his usually well-tended and neat, now disheveled hair, Fawn mustered his strength and took him down when he kicked him into the inner side of knee. Hawke howled and tumbled down like a rag-doll. Fawn climbed up at his swaying feet and stalked to the nearest object he could throw at the human. He ripped down a painting capturing a young woman drawing in the grass, intending to stick Hawke's head through it.

"Put it down, silly elf! That's my mother's mother, a heritage of the Amell family!" Samael groaned, nursing his knee, still on the floor.

"Oh. I'm sorry," Fawn mumbled and to Hawke's astonishment he hung the painting back on its place, making sure it hung properly. He snatched instead the cupreous jug showing the satyrs and nymphs, intertwined during their lovemaking, and hurled it at the standing up Hawke. Samael managed to duck so the heavy jug swooshed above his head and it chipped off the piece of the fireplace ledge. Before Fawn could do anything, Samael was onto him, knocking them both down again. They wrestled in silence, but the nimble elf was still escaping the Samael's merciless grasp, making him nervous and impatient. He wanted to capture the elf, so he wouldn't be able to make even the tiniest move, then force him to beg for letting him go, but, damn it, it wasn't that easy since Fawn was wriggling with an unexpected dexterity and strength. When Samael's despair reached the peek as he tried all his tricks and nothing worked, he twisted the elf's ear and to his amusement, Fawn squeaked and a pure fear was emanating from his eyes.

"Not the ears, you brute! I'm an elf!" he yelled at Hawke although he was only several inches away.

"And? You're an elf, so I can't touch your pointy ears or what?" Samael laughed genuinely about this twisted logic, but Fawn made him shut up when he punched him in his face. Hawke was stunned for a few seconds while Fawn managed to crawl on all four away, but Hawke caught his ankle, dragging him back in an insane laughter. When Fawn kicked blind behind him, Samael flew backwards, his shoulder almost dislocated. They clashed again in the middle of room, but then they both fell down at the same time, lying on their backs, panting and staring at the chandelier above them. Samael chewed on his swollen lip and Fawn rubbed his reddish disgraced ear, both lost in thoughts.

"You're not that bad for a human." Fawn interrupted the long comfortable silence, glancing at the rogue who had his arms folded behind his head now. "I mean… you're still quite insufferable and impertinent and silly and arrogant, but…" Fawn thoughtful voice died away when he realized he was saying his thoughts out loud. Samael glanced at him as well, surprised about this confession.

"You know, you're not that bad too, Fawn. For an elf, I mean. Of course, you're completely self-centered and conceited, there's not even the tiniest sense of gratitude in you and I hate the way you braid your hair, but…" Samael shut up abruptly, a nervous smile twisting his lips.

"I'm not this way because I would want to, Hawke. My whole life I was struggling alone for survival." Fawn sighed, touching thoughtlessly his tattoo.

"Well, I guess your father didn't teach you to fight and make poisons and traps when you were nine. Because mine did, instead of making mud pies with me and telling me good night stories about three griffons and a fidgety ferret." Samael laughed mirthlessly, slowly circling with his bruised shoulder.

"My father had sent me into the Circle when I was four year old, Hawke. You don't have to tell me about the loving parents." Fawn sneered, pawing his ribs where Samael kicked him. "And when I finally thought I was free, stupid Grey Wardens felt like having me in their ranks would be handy and I ended up with a chalice of the darkspawn blood in my hands. They were surprised when I threw the chalice at them and escaped as a beautiful eagle." Fawn's expression was dreamy and Samael didn't interrupt him, too afraid Fawn would stop talking. "But I was stupid back then, thinking I got rid of them. They hunted me down, pouring the blood down my throat anyway when they drove me into a dead end cave." Fawn shut up, his voice distant and marked by the reopened wounds in his soul.

"It takes… to drink the darkspawn blood to become a Warden?" Samael's eyes widened in disgust and genuine outrage that Fawn was forced to drink it. "Hm, wasn't it a secret, known only to Wardens?" he asked when the elf stayed silent.

"Yes, it's a stupid secret. But I don't feel any obligations to keep it just to myself since I didn't want to be a Warden." Fawn shook his head, looking straight into Samael's amber eyes, which were watching him for long minutes now. Fawn was surprised when he found there nothing but deep understanding and sympathy, which woke him up. After all, he didn't want nor need any compassion, and certainly not from a human!

"Fawn, how did you get those scars on your back?" Samael asked cagily, convinced Fawn would counter with 'none of your business' tone.

"Every year I choose a person who marks me with the new scar as a sign I live as a free elf, not tied up with the Chantry or the Circle. And regarding that burn on my back, yes. There was a Fereldan Circle of Magi tattoo And I got rid of it that very minute I was free." Fawn rounded up his explanation, wondering why he even shared his memories with this human. He felt he needed to divert Hawke's attention elsewhere. "But you're quite familiar with the scars yourself, aren't you, Hawke." Fawn added, watching the wave of scare flowing across Hawke's face, when he realized it wasn't a question.

"How do you know?" was Samael's hesitant reply as he averted his gaze elsewhere, ashamed.

"You fell asleep in the armchair one night. A blood stain on your under tunic caught my attention as I passed by you so I took a look." Fawn's unconcerned, yet curious voice echoed in the main hall.

When it was clear Hawke would say nothing more regarding his scars, they both climbed up on their feet again and Fawn started pulling the jerkin on, hissing when his bruised rib cage protested. A big brass key clattered in the keyhole and Samael gestured towards the open Fawn's room, feeling like he should say something, but couldn't.

Fawn studied his face for a few seconds before he moved towards the room, intending to get his stuff and leave. What was his surprise when Samael's arm shot out suddenly, blocking his way when Hawke leaned on the doorframe.

"You had not enough? Or do you want me to beg? Because that's surely not going to hap—" Fawn scowled, but before he could continue, he reeled, but a pair of arms caught him before he could tumble down in a very non-heroic way.

"Get your hands… off... me…!" he gasped and Samael let him go immediately. Fawn collapsed along the wall, closing his eyes, exhausted and embarrassed.

"Do you even have a place to stay when you're so determined to leave?" Samael asked a simple question, watching the elf. Fawn twitched, but there was no mockery in the Hawke's voice this time. It occurred to him that this genuine concern was even worse than mocking.

"No," was his terse reply, his eyes wandering somewhere by Hawke's knees. The arm, offering him a help to stand up, surprised the proud elf indeed and he clasped Samael's forearm and let himself to be pulled up again. Samael led the elf straight to his bed in the guest room, pulling the jerkin off him again. Fawn had usually very pale face, but now it was glowing in unhealthy feverish shades.

"Shouldn't I call Merrill?" Samael whispered when he pulled the blanket over the slender body.

"No. I just…. had a tough day. The caravan seemed to have just two sentinels, but who could have known there were four more inside…" Fawn managed to grin, squirming beneath the blanket.

Hawke chuckled shortly, shaking his head. "Sleep, Fawn." Samael turned around, reaching for the door knob.

"Samael?" A quiet voice stopped him.

"Hm?" Samael didn't turn back to the elf.

"I still don't like you." Fawn said, followed by Samael's quiet chuckle.

"I know," replied Samael, "but you will. I'm adorable."

They both burst out laughing and Samael left the guest room, feeling exhausted, yet content as ever.


	11. Chapter 11

"If you think you can summon me any time you like, I will happily explain to you that you… simply… can't!" Samael's quiet speech turned to shouting which echoed in the crammed Qunari compound for long seconds after the last word.

"I was told you are at my disposal and you're here to appease me, human. Besides that, it's not like you would have anything better to do." Arishok remained calm and his gaze slipped from the fuming Hawke at elven girl who squirmed under his scrutiny.

"Anything better to do?" Samael whispered to himself. "Anything better to do?" he roared a second later, stalking to the Qunari leader. Two broad-shouldered Qunari stepped in his way, but they were wallowing in the dust before Arishok could blink. Before Samael could ruin the fragile peace with the Qunari for good, one thin arm and one lyrium-tattooed arm snaked around his chest. Samael looked on right - Fenris' subtle wink telling him not to provoke the Arishok further, then he glanced on left - Merrill's concerned face and that poorly hidden fear in her eyes made his tensed body to relax.

"Your non-existent diplomatic skills don't surprise me, Hawke," the Arishok mumbled, observing the silent struggle right in front of him with an unconcerned expression. "Perhaps we could proceed why I summoned you in the first place, which I gravely regret right now." The Arishok hurled something in the Samael's way and he caught it; it was just a pure reflex. Merrill squealed, staggering a few steps away from her lover, Fenris gasped, but stayed at the assassin's side and Fawn stepped closer, examining the thing with interest.

Like in the slow images, Samael looked down at the round thing in his hands and it took him a while before he fully realized he held a Qunari head in his hands, staring at him with burnt out eyes and there was no tongue in mouth.

"You have to do better than this to scare me, Qunari. I kill people for living, in case you don't know that," Samael sneered, ruffling the dead head's hair.

"An explanation, human. I want an explanation why my whole karataam disappeared at the Wounded Coast and only the heads came back to the Qun." The Arishok was watching Samael's disrespectful actions, but decided to pass that in silence. For now.

"Your Qun can suck it…" Samael muttered to himself.

"What did you say?" The Arishok stood up to his full height and Samael looked ridiculously little in comparison with him.

"I said the Qun should be happy to have their heads back at least." An innocent grin sprawled on the assassin's face and Merrill giggled despite the choking atmosphere.

"What is it you want from me then, hm? Do you want their bodies? Do you want me to drag whoever did that by his ankle in here, so you could recite him the Qun until he passed out from boredom?" Obviously Samael wasn't scared enough of these horn-headed creatures and a strong poke into his ribs from Fenris pointed out this fact.

The Arishok marched right in front of the cheeky human, looking down at him with his jaw set and his usually lifeless eyes looked alive enough right now, burning with wrath. Samael's group was able to see the massive muscles bulging on the Qunari's bare torso, yet Samael stayed still, looking straight into those fish eyes above his head. No one could see that he had the blades almost out of their forearm sheathes, ready to strike back if the Qunari was foolish enough to attack him. Of course, Samael chose not to see his own foolishness.

"Step away from him, Q-Qunari." Merrill was obviously much more frightened than Samael and she wasn't able to control herself as her palms started emanating the venomous green light. Every Qunari in the compound started growling right now, closing in around the group of intruders.

"She is… a Saarebas," the Arishok breathed out, not believing his eyes. "You have an uncollared Saarebas with you!" He stalked to her, reaching for her with his brawny arm and Merrill gave a squeal of fear. The Qunari's arm was stroke aside fiercely as Samael positioned himself between the elf and the Qunari. Merrill was peering at the Arishok from behind the Hawke's back, her palms were darkening again as she was calming down, realizing Hawke wouldn't let the Qunari touch her. Fenris and Fawn had their weapons ready, challenging the nearest Qunari to come closer.

The Arishok's expression became thoughtful as he rubbed his chin, ruminating about the situation. As much as he hated humans and this city, he still needed Hawke, but he was genuinely interested in the girl as well.

"I told you I can't fight you, Hawke," he grumbled finally. "You are not a Basalit-an. So leave the girl here and the rest of you are free to go." The Arishok seemed pleased with this negotiation and his eyes were gliding along Merrill's body, considering her as his winning prize.

"Would I get at least your Saarebas in return, Arishok?" Samael asked in a perfectly nonchalant tone and he squeezed Merrill's hand behind his back to let her know he wasn't going anywhere without her.

"The Saarebas… belongs… to its… KARATAAM!" The Arishok lost his patience, shouting.

"Well, and this Saarebas belongs to me, Qunari. So this is what's going to happen. You attack me; I and my companions will kill as many Qun-kneelers as we are able to. You would be cornered, your mind wildly musing about how the hell you are supposed to kill me when the pathetic Hawke is no Basalit-an, oh no. You might end up dead because you're underestimating me, which is good for me. It gives me an advantage and the possibility of your head being spiked at the city gate is rising as we speak." During his speech Samael was circling around the silent Arishok, keeping Merrill with him.

"Or you could paw your own Saarebas and let me leave to investigate who murdered your precious karataam." Hawke rounded up his statement, standing right in front of the speechless Arishok and reaching the arm holding the Qunari head by its hair towards him. When the Qunari stayed motionless, Samael dropped the head to his feet. He gave him the last vicious sneer and marched out of the compound, half-expecting the Qunari spear in his back. Merrill scuttled right behind him, still holding his hand and Fawn with Fenris stepped cautiously backwards with their still drawn weapons until they were out of the compound as well.

Fenris blew the snowy hair out of his sweaty forehead, piercing his grinning assassin with a cold gaze. "I'm impressed, Hawke. Next time Varric complains about your diplomatic abilities, I will be the one telling him you almost killed us in the Qunari compound because you couldn't hold your vain tongue behind the teeth. Of course I'll add the part when the same tongue rescued us afterwards." Samael just shrugged at those harsh words, glancing at Merrill who was trying to embed herself into his chest. He wasn't used to showing his feelings in public, but he placed a peck on her forehead anyway, encircling her with his arms briefly. He did notice Fawn turned away to hide his disapproving face, but at least he forbore making a comment this time.

"You thought I would leave you there." Samael whispered to Merrill when it was obvious she wouldn't let go of him any time soon. When she nodded in reply, fidgeting in his arms, Samael waved the two elves away to give them a moment. Fenris rolled his eyes but turned around and strolled away, but Fawn followed him more than reluctantly, watching Hawke in suspicion as he lit up a cigar.

"How can you still doubt me, Merrill?" He brought her chin up so she would finally look at him. When she did, Samael froze, arching his eyebrow. "Your eyes are red, Merrill," he breathed out, holding her a bit further from him.

"By the Dread Wolf! Really?" Merrill gasped, hiding them in her palms.

"That was not my point," Samael pulled her hands away gently. "I remember well what you said about who you are and what you are, Merrill, before you moved in with me. So don't you dare hiding from me now." His quiet words conjured a faint smile on her lips as she breathed out loudly in relief. Samael watched in astonishment as his crimson ring stone turned into mossy green in one second.

Hawke realized Merrill was watching his amazement with a smile on her lips so he just put down the hand with ring, coughing, murmuring to the sky "Bah, magic—"

"A message for you, Messere!" A lanky lad skittered by them, then returned and halted in front of Hawke in a hilariously stiff pose. Samael took the note, leaving a silver coin in the lad's hand instead. His eyebrow knitted as he was reading the message, waving at the two elves arguing thirty feet away to come closer.

"So… not that I would want to, but I need to see Varric right now, then Aveline requires my presence in her own charming way of a direct order and then I guess I'm heading at the Coast. Who's with me?" Samael glanced around him. Merrill squeezed his hand in agreement and Fenris nodded, still scowling about something Fawn had said.

"I have… other business to attend to today, Hawke. Don't wait for me with a dinner." Fawn sneered, but Samael glimpsed a nervous twitch in Fawn's face as he whirled around and almost ran away.

"Fenris, try to lure somebody else to come with us, please. Maybe you shouldn't mention the fact we're looking for the Qunari corpses." Samael smirked and leaned closer. "Wait for me at the Keep entrance." The elven warrior nodded and sauntered away.

oOo

Once Hawke and Merrill stood in the dooryard of an inconspicuous Lowtown house, Samael had no idea if they had the correct address. But Xenon's sources were usually more than reliable, so Samael knocked on the massive door, listening to the sounds coming from inside.

"What ya want? No more door-to-door merchants here, no more Chantry bigots! Leave me to my unholy fornicating peace or I'll make shoe strings out of your innards!" Hawke jumped up at the hoarse voice, yelling at him from behind the closed door with a rising intensity.

"I'm looking for Varric Tethras!" Hawke shouted in return, pounding on the door twice.

"The password?" the doorman guffawed in reply.

"I don't need any password, you boor, but you'll need a new door if you won't let me in to talk to him!" Hawke lost his patience which wasn't hard to achieve anyway.

"Every! Visitor! Needs! A! Passwoooord!" A voice roared in reply and it occurred to Samael his owner wasn't probably sane. He just jiggled the door knob, intending to break the door down or use his lockpicks. He chose the swifter choice and at the moment he was about to smash the door down, the door opened and Hawke flew through like a greased lightning, hitting the wall behind the door in the full momentum, and tumbling down, stunned. The door was slammed close again before Merrill could run to her lover and she hammered at it, calling his name in pure panic.

"HA! You definitely have a face of a lecherous Chantry bigot!" an unfamiliar voice said while Hawke was blinking, nursing his bumped head when he felt a blade on his throat and he looked up at his captor. To his astonishment an elder skeletal man was standing there, his left eye twitching with a nervous tic. But it wasn't the most peculiar thing, since his eyes were completely milky white, but he did seem to see Hawke, so he was not blind then.

A choked sound resounded behind the door and it flew in all directions, exploding in purple flames when Merrill's silhouette enveloped in outraged red light walked through the doorframe. Samael uncovered his face, which he had hidden to protect it from the explosion and he couldn't believe Merrill just used her blood magic for something that petty as being ripped from him for a half of a minute. The man screeched as he was caught with Merrill's powerful blood vortex and the bright light emanating from Merrill's staff was dazzling. Blinded, Samael climbed up on his feet, reaching for her. When his hand entered the blood magic field around her he felt warm tingling sensation running through his whole body, but it was nothing in comparison with what he felt when his palm connected with her shoulder. A pure geyser of pleasure flooded into his mind and he gasped, scared about the intense feeling. Merrill's crimson shield started turning amber then it darkened as she lowered her staff, panting, her eyes wandering between her lover and the stranger who collapsed down.

"Merrill… what the hell? He wasn't about to kill me! Look at him – he's old! And gaunt! And…!" Samael rubbed his forehead, hissing when he brushed the tiny scratch caused by the wooden splinter from the door. Merrill opened her mouth to reply when a man sitting on the floor chuckled and they both glanced at him. He had his both palms in front of his face, twisted into puppets, talking to each other when he moved his fingers against each other.

"That was quite a blow, wasn't it?"

"Oh yes, it was."

"We definitely should have let those two pass, because they weren't kidding about the broken door."

"But who could have known?"

"Indeed who the hell could have known?"

"Such a beautiful door…"

"But the witch knows!"

"Yes, she knows, but she's under his protection, love. There's nothing we can do."

"Unless…" His voice trailed off into incoherent and indecipherable chuckling and muttering.

Merrill and Samael glanced at each other again, their mouths hanging.

"By the Stone, Hawke! What's this mess? I knew it was you the moment splinters and spells started flying around," Varric strode over the murmuring doorman, pulling a wooden chip out of Samael's disheveled hair.

"Your lackey tried to kill me, dwarf!" Samael scowled in return.

"Oh, come on, Hawke. He's harmless. And funny," Varric pulled the man up on his feet. "Hawke, this is Ichabod Bane. Ichabod, meet the destroying element of this city, Samael Hawke. He's going to apologize and pay for the door, don't you worry," Varric pierced Hawke with a threatening glare.

Samael just rolled his eyes and sighed "Whatever," gesturing towards the room. They walked there and Samael seated himself on a creaking sofa, Merrill nestled down beside him, looking around with her eyes wide open. Varric took a seat in the armchair opposite to a sofa and assumed a position of a hurt friend waiting for a well-deserved apology. Of course, there was an overweening smug on his face. Samael was aware of that and a proper apology just froze on his lips so he made it quick.

"Errr, yeah, sorry about the other day, dwarf. Now, are you going with me or what?" He blurted out, scratching his head.

"That was the worst apology I've ever heard, Hawke!" Varric leaned backwards in the armchair, steepling his fingers. His expression then darkened as he reminisced about the fire and that his home and all his things had burnt.

"You know, Hawke, I thought you were the worst thing that had ever happened to me," Varric mumbled and Samael lowered his head in guilt, knowing the insult he gave Varric was completely misplaced and that the Hanged Man had burnt to ground because of him as well.

"But then I recalled the Merchant Guild and no – you're definitely not the worst thing in my life," Varric grinned and shooed away Ichabod who peered inside with a green parrot on his hand.

"You know you're welcomed at my estate, Varric, if you need a place to stay," Samael thought an offer of temporary shelter was in order.

"Nah. Thank you, Hawke, but no. I wouldn't be able to sleep there anyway since that pointy-eared guts-stabbing bastard lives there as well." Varric pointed out the obvious obstacle. "It's quite comfortable here, well, if you ignore Ichabod's many stunts like setting the kitchen on fire, staring at you while you're sleeping or playing lyre at 4 AM."

"Who is that man anyway, Varric?" Hawke's voice was quiet as he leaned forward, interested in the peculiar person.

"He's an old friend of mine. His story is long and you wouldn't believe even the half of it anyway. But I'll tell you some day," Varric smirked and stood up. "So? Who are we after today? Bianca was itching to stick some bolts in some bastard's ass for ages now!"

Samael laughed shortly at his eagerness, realizing he must have been bored lately and jumped on his feet as well, pulling Merrill up with him.

"Fuck my feathers!" the parrot squeaked when they passed by the silent Ichabod, who was ogling Merrill.

"Don't even ask…" Varric sighed when he noticed a mute question Hawke was giving him with his arched eyebrow.

oOo

"I have no clue why do you have to do several things at the same time, Hawke…" Varric was brooding, looking around the coast for something he could shoot.

"I need money Varric. It's as simple as that," Samael shrugged, pulling Merrill away from the cliff edge when she swayed there in the fresh breeze, staring in rapture at the waves turning to fluffy foam on the rocks thirty feet beneath her feet.

"Come on, Hawke. You can do better than this explanation. You're wealthy. You could stroll around the city in beautiful clothes with beautiful women, no offense, Daisy, and everybody would drop to your feet for you to grant them a smile and maybe a small share from your fat pouch of gold," Varric laughed, cocking his head in curiosity.

"Do you have any idea how much this one eats lately?" Samael replied as he pulled his woman closer. Merrill was pouting about those pretty women Varric had mentioned.

"Very funny, Samael," Varric scowled, glancing at the skinny elven girl. It surprised him though when he noticed she didn't look so gaunt and unhealthy as normal. She was still slender, but healthy slender and she was glowing with happiness every time her lover touched her or looked at her.

Samael glanced back where Fenris walked along with Anders, both taken by a quiet debate. "They are actually talking to each other without making a single attempt to kill each other," he shook his head in disbelief, laughing shortly. "And it won't kill us, Varric, to look for a runaway mage since the Templars are offering nice pouch of gold for her. Then I need to search for any signs of stinking Qunari carrion and don't forget it was Aveline who gave me the task about clearing the northern path here. I must admit that woman scares me sometimes…" He rounded up his explanation with muttering to himself.

"Just sometimes? I find myself constantly scared shitless of her," the dwarf guffawed and inhaled the salty spring breeze deeply before they headed north.

oOo

Two hours later Varric was completely boltless and they were all keeled over in the sand, exhausted because of the "present" which Aveline gave them by clearing out the path. Anders had to use a potion so he would be able to heal an ugly sinuous wound on Fenris' thigh and Merrill stayed lying motionless, intending to sleep for two days after their arrival home. The breeze brought a distant familiar voice to them, saying the most unexpected things.

"… and if the blacksmith hadn't done that correctly, the blade could be easily shattered or even–"

"Listen, Captain, how is it comes that our route was so quiet today? I mean the coast always swarms with bandits, refugees, but today – nothing," a thoughtful rusty voice interrupted her and she replied just with a nervous cough.

"Guardsman Donnic, I was wondering if you… if we… it's completely all right if you won't… but I…" Aveline rounded up her ramble with racy swearing which was accompanied with Donnic's raised eyebrow and open mouth.

"Now I get it, Aveline! Just command the silly Hawke to do your dirty job so you could have your fun, right?" Samael jumped up from his hiding place, stalking to Aveline with his fists clenched.

"Hawke! What a lovely surprise! What are _you_ doing here?" Aveline's eyes begged him not to reveal his part in her plot to ask Donnic about their relationship. But she didn't know Hawke well enough if she truly thought that Samael would act like an adult for once and help her.

Before Samael could ruin the whole situation, Varric stepped in, squeezing Samael's tensing shoulder. "So are we done here, Captain, or do you want me to hold him down for a while?" His words were even worse since he said them grinning and he shot a lewd glance at Donnic at the end.

"Varric, DON'T!" Aveline gulped.

"I don't understand!" Merrill peeped, her eyes popping out of her head. "What's happening? Why would we hold that nice Guardsman down?" She scratched her head in genuine confusion.

"Because, Daisy, ah girl…" Varric sighed, not knowing how to put it lightly for the elf. "Tell me what are you doing in the bed with your dear lover every night? Then apply the same situation for those two pigeons here." Samael just rolled his eyes about Varric's lesson and pulled out a silver flask with whiskey.

"I still don't understand! Why would Aveline want to comb Donnic's hair?" Merrill continued her investigation. Of course, Varric burst out laughing, Anders with Fenris bended over, roaring with laughter as well, and Samael choked and spluttered the whiskey out over the sand.

"Thanks, Merrill, I always wanted to let the whole damned Kirkwall know I like my hair combed with a special brush and candles burning around me," Samael gave her a scorching glare and Merrill shrank back at her lover's harsh words.

"Would anyone please tell me what's going on here?" Donnic interrupted them all when the limits of his patience overflowed, searching the faces around him one by one.

"I would run if I were you, Donnic." Hawke stalked to Aveline, looking her deep in the eyes, but talking to Donnic. "You're about to become her bitch." A fierce slap coming from Aveline forced Hawke to dance backwards to dodge it and he stopped when he was between his grinning companions again. Aveline glanced at Donnic who was starting to understand the whole situation, but before he could say something Aveline set her jaw and marched away.

"That was… cruel, Hawke," Varric was the only one who seized laughing and he was giving Samael a condemning glare now. "Even from you."

"She should have told me, damn it. I would clear the path anyway, but I would know why had I do that. It's her fault!" Hawke defended himself, but he knew he overstepped the boundaries of friendship. Varric shrugged when he saw Hawke regretted his words already.

"Let's go." Samael growled. "We still have a mage to drag to Gallows and–"

"You're a fool if you think I will return there voluntarily!" A high-pitched voice slashed the air and they all whirled around, looking for her. And there she was standing on the rock not far from them. She was Dalish, a bit older than Merrill, and her raven hair was waving in the breeze.

"Come on, elf, don't fight me. I don't like killing people with black hair," Samael slowly unsheathed his katana, watching the elven mage. She strolled down to him, orbiting around him. Samael was that surprised about her odd behavior he stayed still, but ready to attack.

"What is it you want that would make you leave me alone?" she whispered into his right ear. "I can give you many things, _Hawke_!"

"You know my name. How do you know who I am?" Samael swiveled his head to face her.

"Who doesn't in Kirkwall?" The woman laughed mirthlessly, glancing at the silent companions.

"Samael, please let her go," both Merrill and Anders stepped forward, but it was the blonde mage who said it out loud. Hawke whirled around to look at them in shock about questioning him, but calmed down when Varric and Fenris came by his side, watching the Dalish apostate intently.

"She's going back to the Circle, Anders, unless she could beat the offer from the Templars," Samael's voice was soft, but somehow deadly soft. Anders turned to the apostate with a mute question, but she just shook her head and her gaze slipped at her Dalish kin.

"What about you, sister? Will you let him claim me? Will you let him claim one of your own?" asked the apostate. Merrill started fidgeting under her eyes, burning with hope. Samael's heart skipped a beat when he realized he had just forced Merrill to choose between him and her people. He was wise enough to know not to ever do that because he wouldn't probably like the outcome, but here we – it happened anyway. And Merrill was about to betray him no doubt.

"Hawke, just for this once, please." Anders tried to say it in a jovial manner, the flashes of his charms, coming from the time before the Fade spirit started to consume him, started to show through his always tormented façade.

"So now what? You think just because I'm fucking a Dalish mage I will suddenly love all mages? Well, think again, Anders!" Anders' eyes started glowing after those nasty words, but two pairs of arms held him on the spot. Not to protect Hawke; to protect him.

"So you're a Templar-helper, as always, right?" Anders lashed out at the assassin, struggling with his captors.

"Don't be ridiculous, Anders!" a vicious smile twisted Samael's lips. "I'm at no one's side since nobody is at my side. I'm a mercenary in the first place and I don't give a damn about the whole Templars versus mages thing." Samael's eyes then slipped at the motionless Merrill who just stood there with her head hanging. Samael realized his harsh words had probably hurt her, again, yet he needed to know at which side of a barricade she was standing and he needed to know that right now.

"Merrill…?" He brought her chin up gently and her eyes swimming in tears unarmed him. She blinked to keep the tears in check and stalked to her kin.

"I have no people to call my own. Not anymore. I'm sorry," she wiped away the one tear which started to make its way down her cheek and returned to Samael's side. Samael strolled to the defeated mage who obviously wasn't about to fight for her freedom, but he was prepared for the blade pulled out of her robes. To his astonishment, she attempted to stab herself in the chest, not him. He caught the hand just in time before the blade could plunge into her body and pried the knife out of her trembling hand. He felt sorry for her, maybe even more than he was able to admit to himself.

Without any words he tied her hands behind her back and pushed her gently down the path.

"What about the Qunari, Hawke?" Varric asked in a small voice, watching the apostate.

"I haven't seen nor smelled any Qunari carcass, Varric. Have you?" Samael smirked, regaining his composure. The dwarf just grinned back at him.

Anders finally broke the Fenris' and Varric's hold and fled the coast like a mad man, but Samael found him waiting near the Gallows gate. Their eyes clashed as they passed by to collect the reward, but not a word between them. When Samael re-emerged from the Gallows courtyard, Merrill joined him again and Samael stopped right in front of the silent and hunched blonde mage who looked like he was twenty years older than his age. They were studying each other's face for one long minute; Samael then dropped the pouch with a reward at his feet and left.

oOo

They lay intertwined after their lovemaking for a long time without words, listening to each other's slowing breathing. No doubt they were both musing about what had happened at the coast that day and Samael felt the burning scratches on his back – Merrill let her fingernails show her anger there and Samael couldn't blame her.

"Samael?" Merrill finally broke the fragile silence.

"Hm?"

"Don't do that ever again," Samael pushed her away so he could search her face.

"Because next time you would betray me?" His words were hesitant but bitter.

"Because next time I would betray myself," Merrill closed her eyes and snuggled closer again, relieved when Samael wrapped his arms around her in a tight protecting cage. They both drifted off, but a vivid dream filled as usually with burning ships and empty faces of those who had died by his hand, woke up Samael in the middle of night. Merrill wasn't sleeping by his side, but he needn't to look for her since she stood by the dresser, naked and lost in her thoughts. He was about to ask why she wasn't asleep, but her sudden movement silenced him.

Merrill fished something from an open drawer, something pendent on a thick silver chain which clattered in a deaf silence. When she held it in front of her eyes, Samael recognized the hyaline flacon they used to keep their blood in, for the possibility to find one another if needed. And it was definitely the flacon containing Samael's blood since Merrill's one was almost empty from the time Samael needed to locate her at the Gallows. Merrill slowly opened the vial and smelled its content. Nothing could have prepared Samael for what came next since Merrill gulped down the blood without hesitation.

_She… __drank it. She drank the blood. My blood! What the hell?_

The first impulse Samael had was to yell, scream, shout, shake an explanation out of her, but somehow he remained still and closed his eyes again when Merrill put the flacon on its place again and was about to turn around.

Samael felt the mattress rocked as she sat on the bed again and he let his one eye to peer at her – she was sitting on the edge of their bed as he thought, stretching with her arms up and then she sighed in… relief? Pleasure? Well, certainly not in disgust or pain. His eye slowly closed tight when she started to crawl on all four to him.

Merrill placed a tender peck on his lips when she snuggled as close to him as she could, wrapping his free arm around her. Samael played his part of a sleeping person, so he let his arm fall back on the blanket where Merrill picked it up again with an impatient snort, shifting and wrapping it around her again.

Samael lay awake for long minutes, musing why the hell the little bundle snoring in his arms would drink his blood.


	12. Chapter 12

[For those who are interested in this story: As a self-taught traditional artist I draw a picture for every chapter, usually some crucial or interesting moment of it, so take a look if you want to. You can find them on deviantART under the nickname LadyDragonka, but make sure the mature content filter is off, since almost every drawing is marked with M because of the blood or nudity or, you know, because it looks insane. Enjoy the chapter!]

Two silhouettes were standing twenty feet away of each other, silent and motionless. The sun was only rising, the first sunlight gliding over the treetops of pine trees. There were large beads of dew dampening their feet and fluffy shreds of mist wallowing on the glade.

The two ghosts stalked at the same time closer to each other, circling, their eyes locked as they were challenging the other one to strike first. When the elf couldn't bear it anymore, the weapon sliced the thick air, attempting to punch the opponent into the stomach. He just dodged, guffawing, then he struck, pushing the elf backwards with a fierce attack. They were whirling around the meadow until their figures looked like they were floating above the ground. The elf staggered and gasped when a vicious punch straight into the torso came along with an unexpected move that kicked the weapon out of the elf's grasp. The elf just managed to blink in pain and the cold steel was lovingly touching the slender throat a second later.

"Not bad," whispered a husky voice into Merrill's ear. She shuddered when she felt warm lips brushing her neck where the cold blade had been a second ago. The witch clenched her teeth, but instead of returning the kiss she whirled around and attacked her assailant with a knife she used usually for blood magic. Her counterattack was unexpected as she slashed his arm and heard almost inaudible hiss of pain. She used that second of distraction to pick up her staff again, swing it above her head and attack, but the assassin was escaping her hits without difficulty, whispering "You elves really suck at this, don't you..."

The fuming Merrill cried out, pushing him backwards with her staff that was slicing the air in an insane pace. But once she was knocked out of balance by his mocking, Samael had an easy job disarming her again. Merrill wasn't willing to let him win so easily so she managed to catch him off guard and kick him beneath the knee which sent him down, but he took her with him. They continued the silent combat in the grass, but soon the assassin had her pinned on the ground and all her attempts to free herself were futile. When she realized it, she just sizzled, "Let go of me!" and her palms started to glow, warning him what would happen if he continued. Samael saw it wasn't just a practice for her anymore and that her wrath was real, so he rolled on his back next to her, silent for several minutes.

A whole two weeks had passed since he saw her drinking his blood and there were many moments when they were alone and she could have told him about it, but she just didn't. He asked her several times if there was anything bothering her or something she would want to talk about with him, but again, nothing. It all escalated when they were making love last night and Merrill was so disconnected, Samael just couldn't go on and stopped. But at his arched eyebrow and quiet question about where the hell Merrill was since her mind definitely wasn't with him, she just turned her back at him, pushing herself far away from him in the bed. It was that moment when Samael decided to provoke her until she would talk about it - otherwise he would go crazy and it would probably cost him their relationship. So here they were after he had woken her up early that morning and dragged her out of Kirkwall.

"You can't let anybody distract you so easily from your concentration, my little pariah. Just a few words and you started making mistakes and it was pretty much easy to get you down afterwards." Samael watched her puckered lips, smiling involuntarily when she finally turned her pouting face to him.

"Tell me, Merrill, what would you do if, let's say, Isabela attacked you? It would be a fight to the death, you or her. How would you react, hm?" Samael continued a lesson.

"I would... I would be sad and I would fight back," Merrill breathed out, frightened as she vividly imagined what that would be like, being attacked by a friend.

"Now imagine that Fenris killed me. What would you think? What would you feel? What would you do then?" His quiet questions interrupted the silence again, leaving her eyes widened in shock, staring at him.

"Answer, Merrill." Samael touched her face, demanding a reply.

"I would be... furious," Merrill's face darkened, "and I would kill him for that," she finished her statement, her eyes narrowed and burning with a vengeance. Samael jumped up, pacing around her.

"Wrong and wrong! You would remain calm in the first place. Then you would kill Isabela because she would try to kill you, then you would go after Fenris, because he killed me. And you would be able to win, because you are able to control yourself. Steel your mind, Merrill, and dominate your fears and desires. That's the key!" Samael rounded up his explanation and stalked ten feet away from her, showing his back to her. Merrill stared in rapture at his silhouette, tall, proud, calm and beautiful. He seemed invincible at that moment, but Merrill knew better than anyone else what was beneath that raw façade he wore.

"Again!" A brusque command ripped her out of her musing. Merrill jumped up at her feet, grasping her staff again. As they faced off, she noticed his eyes were different now; just like during any other fight – merciless, vicious and on fire. She wondered just for a second how many people saw these eyes before they had died by his hand. Samael was the one who attacked first, then he pulled back, taunting her again, only to pressure her even more with a fierce counterattack. He whirled around her and a sudden fear devoured her mind, knowing he could probably finish her off whenever he would like to. Once again disconnected of what was happening, Merrill felt two dagger hilts jabbing into her back and she gasped, stumbling around and away from her tormentor. She groped the two sore spots, half-expecting the blood would flow out of deep stab wounds, but of course there was none. When she glanced at her lover again in disbelief, a cruel grin was twisting his face as he crept closer to her.

"Come one, witch! I can smell your fear. You're like a wounded animal, leaving a blood trail for me. What are you waiting for? Strike back!" The last words Samael roared, lunching forward. Merrill deflected his attack, feeling her heart was racing. But no matter what she did, a staff thudded in the grass and she felt the coldness of steel on her throat once more.

"That was the best you can do? Tss, I'm losing my time here then!" Merrill felt his hot breath in her ear and noticed a pure disdain in his dark voice.

"No! I... just..." She peeped, her chest heaving with a shallow quickened breathing.

"You what? What's wrong? Or am I standing too close to you right now? That's what makes you nervous? Hm?" the assassin growled into her ear again, letting his other hand slid lower across her belly, satisfied when she gasped and tensed.

"Ah, maybe you want me to continue?" Samael nipped her ear with his teeth, his hand creeping between her thighs.

"Yes!" Merrill almost wasn't able to recognize her own hoarse voice, colored with lust, insecurity and a persistent feeling that she was about to die.

Samael only waited for this confirmation that she still desired his body as much as he desired hers and he shoved her away, stepping ten feet away again, his back turned to her once more. Merrill just stood there, panting, watching his motionless figure in horror. Finally she began to understand, unbelievably slowly, that this wasn't just a fighting lesson, but something much deeper and ominous.

"It's not just a practice, Samael, is it?" Merrill breathed out, hugging herself when she realized she was quivering.

"No," was his terse reply. "No, it's not," he chuckled mirthlessly from deep of his throat, not bothering turning and facing her.

A whispered "Again" reached her ears and she bristled about his stubbornness to keep fighting and she marched to him. Her staff almost connected with his back this time, but Samael ducked and whirled around her, dodging her attacks for some time before he struck back. She did much better this round, but Samael knew she could beat him if she really wanted to and if she believed she could. He had one more bombshell in the sleeve and he really didn't know why he brought that up. To tease her? To test her again? To punish her for not talking to him? To prove her... something?

"Come on, Merrill! Why don't you end this? You can take me down if you'd want to!" Merrill whirled on right at his voice, but he was already elsewhere. She just snorted in reply, parrying his wild attack. Samael laughed about her efforts, fainting left, then striking from right. He didn't expect he would break through her defense that easily and his dagger cut through her armor and slashed the skin at her side. Merrill cried out in pain, reeling, but there was no apology or mercy in Samael's blazing eyes as he was creeping towards her, step by step, like a predator which was about to finish off its prey. Merrill blinked when he disappeared, but she felt him at the same time right behind her - she just had no strength to react.

"Clumsy elf! Are you going to heal that or do you intend to bleed to death?" Merrill shuddered when his whispering tickled near her ear. She moved her hand to place it on the wound, but Samael caught it; his patience just reached the peek.

"I'll tell you what, my _love_. A secret for a secret. You will tell me why the hell would you drink my blood and I will tell you how many times I have slept with Fenris." A deafening silence followed after this statement. If you'd ask Samael why in the Maker's name he would say something like that, he would shrug, not knowing the answer to that question either. Maybe he was just a drama-lover.

Merrill's eyes flashed in crimson flames as she whirled around, slapping him with all her might. Her staff thudded in the grass and darkened immediately as Merrill ripped her knife out of its belt sheath again and pierced her palm with it. Samael only waited for that and he lunged himself forward, knocking them both into the crushed grass again. Merrill unleashed two purple arcs of electricity out of her hands. They were supposed to keep him away from her, so she could proceed with her blood magic, but Samael just howled in pain, grasping her even tighter.

"How... What..." Merrill just gasped, having no clue why her spell wasn't working properly.

"Ah, now you want to talk?" Samael loosened his grip suddenly, shoving her away from him. They both glared at each other, groping the sore spots on their bodies.

"I saw you, Merrill. I saw what you did and I was a fool when I hoped you would say something about the blood, damn it!" Samael started losing control again.

"What was I supposed to say, Samael?" Merrill shrieked, raking through her hair. "How could I have told you something like that? I knew exactly what your reaction would be and I see I was right!"

"I don't know! Maker, you could have tried something like 'Fuck me again, Samael, and, by the way, I drink the blood now!'" Samael threw his arms sideways, then jumping onto his feet, pacing around her. He opened his mouth several times, but then set his jaw again, shaking his head. Finally he halted in front of her.

"I thought... well, we promised to each other we would talk... about stuff! And you broke the deal now!" Merrill shrank back at his yelling, realizing it had hurt him much deeper than she thought it would. But then she jumped up as well, recalling she wasn't the only one here with a painful secret.

"You don't speak about secrets, you, you, you unfaithful human! Don't you dare shouting about deals or secrets!" she flailed her sharp fingernails in front of his face.

"I'm not shouting!" Samael shouted.

Merrill just snorted in return, watching him and she calmed down a bit since the print of her bony hand was prominent on his cheek. Samael fell silent when there was nobody who would argue with him and he sank into the grass, his head in palms. He was genuinely surprised when Merrill instead of simply walking away collapsed down next to him, so they sat there back-to-back, silent and motionless.

"When?" she whispered almost inaudibly. Samael was tempted to play dumb, not knowing what that simple question was referring to, but he decided to act like an adult for once.

"Does it matter? I did it. And I don't regret it." His merciless words cut right through her, but she clenched her teeth, trying to remain reasonable.

"I asked when, Hawke," her cold demand chilled his very core and her changing his name into his family name didn't help either.

"After the Fade. Then again after I brought you back home from the Circle," his words were heavy, hoarse, like it was too painful to remember.

"All right," Merrill spoke after a long silence.

"All right? Just like that? I mean, you don't mind?" Samael shifted to face her, a pure disbelief and surprise frozen on his face.

"Of course I mind, but we weren't together back then! I knew something like that would happen from the moment the ring stone darkened, telling me you had renounced me for my deed." Merrill shook her head, driving the tormenting memory away, and fell silent again, staring in the grass. When she looked up again she realized Samael had been watching her, waiting for an explanation regarding the blood. Merrill had no idea how to put it though.

"Samael, I drank that blood, because... because..." Merrill sighed, scratching her head.

"Well, try harder, Merrill. Because I still don't have any clue why would you do that," Samael shook his head, watching her.

"I wanted to be... stronger. It told me to drink the blood so we would be more powerful." Merrill lowered her head and she almost whispered now.

"_It_ told you? By the Maker's ass, Merrill, please don't say there's some demon inside of you!" Samael snatched her shoulders, shaking her desperately.

"No. No demon, I've learned my lesson with the demons, ma vhenan. I meant - that." Merrill's eyes wandered to her staff lying in the grass not far from them and now she really was whispering as if the staff was able to hear her.

"So? Get rid of it, Merrill! If it's evil, destroy it and-"

"NO!" Merrill interrupted him, terrified. "It's mine! You gave it to me and it's mine now!" Her eyes were pleading with him.

"I wasn't about to take it from you," Samael watched her outburst with his eyes narrowed in suspicion, "it was a gift and it's yours." He fell silent after this hesitant statement, Merrill calmed down and there was just a long reverent silence between them. But Samael's mind was far from calm.

"Merrill, you need to tell me what you want or what are you thinking about. Because I'm lost here. I have no idea what I'm supposed to say or do so you wouldn't... leave me." Samael averted his gaze, ashamed about what he just had said. Merrill looked up, astonished by his words, because it was the most intimate confession of his love for her she had ever gotten from him. When she searched his face she realized his mask was gone, his eyes were reaching to her, emptying her, begging her not to leave, not to talk, not to be silent.

Merrill pulled him slowly down and they lay there in the carpet of grass and dew for long time in silence, not touching each other, but staring into each other's eyes. When Merrill had glimpsed a mute question in his eyes, she just whispered, "It's all right, Samael. It's forgiven, but not forgotten." He nodded in reply, intertwining their fingers together.

"I forgave you the night you challenged me at the Fenris' mansion. I was so silly. So... blind. Yet you never gave up on me. Just... no more secrets," he whispered, pulling her closer.

"No more secrets," Merrill breathed out, closing her eyes in the morning sun.

They weren't as alone as they thought, but neither of them could see a shadow of a tall and proud deer watching them from behind a pine tree trunk.

oOo

The lovers had spent a day off in the woods, perfectly content with their solitude and finally being able to have a few moments just for themselves without any snooping eyes or business to attend to. As they walked hand in hand slowly through the darkened Hightown in the late evening, they thought nothing could mar their peace and happiness.

Merrill glanced around and dragged Hawke into the nearest alcove drowned in the shadows with impish giggles. "Are you thinking about what I'm thinking about?" she breathed into his ear, standing on her tiptoes and pawing him shamelessly.

"Hm, I think our bedroom is still damned far away," Samael growled in reply, playing her game. He whirled her around and pressed her onto the wall as she wrapped her legs around his waist. Soon enough her giggles turned to soft moans, but an unfamiliar sound of slowly clapping hands broke mercilessly their interlude.

"Bravo, Hawke. Oh my… what do we have here? My _sincere_ _apologies_ for interrupting this, whatever this charade was." The lovers whirled around at that quiet venomous voice and Merrill started groping her clothing, nervously glancing at the silent Samael. His first urge was to cut off the head of whoever dared approaching them in such manner, but when he recognized the face, he had to admit he was simply drawn to this exceptional woman, however he tried to hide it or fight it.

"Good evening, Haydée," Samael spoke finally, watching their intruder intently. It was hard to tell which one of them was more surprised with this quiet and polite greeting. Samael noticed her lips twisted into a rather desperate grin, her attempt to fry him with her eyes and the fact she was ogling his bare chest beneath the unbuttoned jerkin and his unlaced breeches. He would have rather chopped his hands off than cover himself back up properly – it would only let her know how uncomfortable he felt under her scorching scrutiny. There was an uncomfortable silence while Samael's eyes clashed with Haydée's. Merrill was fidgeting by her lover's side, and then the tall woman broke the silence with her derisive voice.

"You must think how clever you are, Hawke, but I'm warning you. My brother pulled a very nasty trick on me, but that doesn't mean it's over. I might be in check right now, but I always find a way to achieve whatever I want," Morrell's eyes narrowed as she stepped closer to them.

"Oh, I do not doubt that, Miss Morrell," Samael sneered in return, regaining his usual self. "But I must admit I had no idea until now you were such a cock-blocking bitch," Samael knew well he should have stayed serene, but he just couldn't have missed a chance to make an acrid comment. While he was contemplating about how Raen managed to tame this wild hoyden, Haydée twitched at his mocking, taking another step towards him. She raised her hand, intending to stroke Hawke's cheek and press her body on his to remind him what he could have had if only he handed her over the Carta lyrium contract, but her arm was stricken away with such a momentum that her shoulder creaked in protest. Merrill was suddenly standing right between them, fuming, staring up into the dark green eyes of the tall panting woman.

"You should keep your _pet_ on a short leash, Hawke. It seems to be rabid," Haydée hissed in the assassin's direction, not taking her eyes off the elf's face though. Merrill just inhaled sharply at this insult, but remained silent and motionless. Samael realized in astonishment Merrill might have learned something from their morning lesson at last. He watched in rapture as Haydée's self-assured expression turned into timid, then fearful and she staggered backwards from the elf, watching her in disbelief.

"What do you think you're doing?" she shrieked finally, clenching her fiery hair, her eyes widened in shock. "STOP IT!" Haydée hit the wall with her back, her eyes still locked with Merrill's. Samael squeezed Merrill's shoulder gently and she broke the eye contact with her rival, setting her eyes at him in a mute question. Her expression shifted in one second from a cruel grin into a tender smile. When they glanced back into the street, they were alone.

"What have you done to her, Merrill?" Hawke asked, watching her in disquiet.

"Nothing," Merrill shrugged, fidgeting.

"Well, that 'nothing' of yours scared the hell out of her," Hawke searched her face in urgency.

"I… just, I tried to look into her mind and tell her to leave us alone. I wasn't going to hurt her, I swear…" Merrill's voice trailed off and she started buttoning her lover's jerkin again.

"Merrill, your hand was creeping for your blood magic knife," his words were hesitant but solid. "And what the hell that looking into her mind thing is supposed to mean? Tell me honestly, can you control it? Your blood magic I mean," Samael wasn't sure if he wanted to know the answer, since Merrill was watching him with her eyebrows knitting, silent.

"I can…?" Merrill peeped after a moment.

"Well, that was very reassuring answer," Samael scowled in reply and finished dressing up on his own. He rubbed his temples and wrapped his arm around the elf. "Let's go home, shall we?" he whispered and they vanished into the night shadows.

oOo

"Few people are worthy of an invitation, you know? They seeearch the seweeeers for the Emporium and accost poor urchin…" Xenon's wheezing trailed off into snoring.

"Hey, grandpa, wake up!" Samael unsheathed the katana and poked the greybeard with its hilt.

"Agh! And I tell urchin to say 'No! You are not worthy! Starve in the sewers!' Except urchin… never… speaks." Xenon's eyes slowly closed again.

"Xenon I came here to speak about the staff you sold me," Samael poked him again, losing patience.

"Of course you came," Xenon sighed. "With what are you not content this time, young master Hawke?" Just for a second Samael had an impression the Emporium proprietor knew exactly what was going on, judging by his mischievous grin.

"Merrill says it's… evil. She says it makes her… do stuff," Samael blurted out, knowing he could have done better than this ramble.

"You wanted a powerful staff, young master Hawke, and powerful staff indeed I sold you. It's not my problem your little mage can't handle it-t-t-t…" Xenon started coughing, fidgeting in his armchair. Now Samael knew something was off here, since Xenon was everything but nervous like that.

"So is there anything I should know about the staff, Xenon?" Samael played like he was interested only a little, strolling around the shop, touching this or that.

"The staff fuels blood magic, young Hawke. Of course it's evil, it's corrupted, it's rotten and perverted and treacherous!" Xenon's voice was getting excited until he was yelling in ecstasy, like those attributes of the staff he just described were the best he could imagine. "And please – don't fondle Andraste!" he said in an unconcerned low voice.

"Oh! I'm sorry." Samael pulled back the guilty hand that had been pawing the statue of Andraste thoughtlessly.

"Let me now ask questions, young master Hawke. I already have the items you've requested and I need you to answer me. What are you going to do with them? Don't get me wrong, I'm game for every fun you're going to have with that. If you happen to blow up all of Kirkwall, it's still fine by me, but the Kirkwall ruins would no doubt crash right into my emporium and that's the crucial moment when I'm starting to care." Xenon fell silent when Hawke was staring at him with his mouth slightly open, having no clue of what the old man spoke.

"Drake stone, sela petrae, frog skin, halla's horn, blahblah, I have it all, lad. Very potent substances, very dangerous indeed when not in the right hands. But I'm afraid I can't give them to you unless you share your intentions." Xenon's voice was insecure like he was apologizing for his curiosity, but also solid, because he needed to know.

"That… son of a bitch," Samael growled, his eyes distant and burning with an irreconcilable fire. "Keep the goods for now, Xenon, I really need to speak with one lying bastard." Xenon shuddered when he glimpsed Hawke's expression, but luckily his wrath wasn't channeled in his way. He watched as the young rogue rushed away and when the door was slammed close he loudly exhaled, calling the urchin.

"That was close, Thaddeus," the old man rasped, patting the boys head. They both glanced into an alcove where the huge pile of something was covered with a black thick fabric. A pale arm was protruding from under the cover, a brawny grey arm with red paint on it.

oOo

"Do you know hundreds of those like you are being slaughtered every year just because once upon a time one crazy Chantry monk said you're creatures of darkness and servants of those who fell away from the Maker's grace?"

"Meow?"

"Of course you don't know. You're just an innocent tiny creature, not aware of the cruelty of this world we all live in."

"Meow."

"Here. You need to eat, little tiger." Anders set the black kitten carefully on his table and pushed it gently towards the shallow bowl with milk.

He sighed and collapsed on a single chair by the table, rubbing his eyelids. When he opened his eyes again, stretching his tired legs, his gaze slipped at the pouch of gold - again. Every time he recalled how Hawke dropped it to his feet by the Gallows gate with that derisive expression on his face and mocking grin on his lips Anders wanted to scream in anger and pain. He was mad with himself too since he wasn't able to let that silly gold lie there, waiting for some lucky finder. Hawke's lesson about not questioning his decisions burnt Anders' very core; that meant it burnt Justice as well and the spirit was hissing about teaching a lesson that insufferable assassin for hours now. Finally Anders wasn't able to stay silent.

"Oh, shut up, Justice! You're driving me crazy! There was nothing I could do for that poor mage!"

_Not that you would actually try to do anything for her!_

"Maker, I tried! But I couldn't do more unless I would fall out with Hawke for good! And you know we cannot afford it since he's the one who keeps the Templars away!"

_But he mocked us with that pouch of gold! There's blood of all mages locked in the Gallows on it! And your staring at it with a vulture expression doesn't help either!_

"What would you have me do then? Should I have left the pouch there on the ground? Should I drag Samael in here and try for the tenth time to convince him the mages need help?" Anders' strident voice became desperate and the kitten looked up from its food, milk dripping off its tiny chin.

"There's no need to drag anyone anywhere, mage." Anders whirled around, knocking over the chair he was sitting on.

"Andraste's flaming pants, Hawke! Learn to knock on the damned door at least!" Anders lashed out at the assassin, trying to figure out how much Hawke had heard from his conversation with Justice, but Samael's expression was impenetrable.

"Why are you here?" Anders folded his arms on chest and stuck out his chin in a hostile gesture. He glanced around his clinic, restless, when no answer came. Silent, Hawke strolled to a table, where the kitten finished its meal, licking a paw. When Samael came close enough the kitten started climbing up his armor from unknown reasons, mewling when it almost fell down. A warm hand caught it and held it on the spot while the kitten started licking its paw again ferociously.

"Tell me, Anders, do you like your life?" A simple question slit the uncomfortable silence and Anders skin reacted with goose bumps at that quiet yet menacing voice. His throat constricted when Samael sauntered right in front of him, fondling the soft fur in his hand. It came to Anders that he didn't like his life, hated it in fact, but if he happened to say it out loud, the assassin might just kill him, since Anders didn't consider him as a sane person.

"Yes. Yes, I like my life," was his terse, tremulous answer.

Anders gasped a second later when the assassin dropped down the kitten and pushed the mage backwards until he hit the wall, his chest heaving like after a long run. "So why do you want me to end it for you?" A hissed question into the mage's left ear.

"I… don't… what are you talking about?" Anders set his hand gently on the Samael's shoulder, pushing him away a bit, so he could see his face. Samael glanced at the hand touching him, then set his blazing eyes back at the mage's face.

"Tell me more about this peculiar potion of yours, Anders. The one which is supposed to separate you from that demon." Samael marked Justice as a demon on purpose and his words were rewarded since Anders' eyes flashed in blue flames and his skin cracked into tortuous clefts emanating blue dazzling light and black smoke. The grasp on the Samael's shoulder tightened, but Samael was able to see Anders was fighting the spirit for control over the body.

"Let him out, Anders. I wanted to talk to him for ages anyway," Hawke sneered and watched in rapture as the spirit took a full control.

"I am Justice. Anders has told you about me." Samael shuddered involuntarily at that unfamiliar, deep and sinister voice coming out of Anders' mouth.

"Anders told me next to nothing about you, demon!" Samael regained his repose.

"I am no demon, you petty human! You should bow to me for I am the pure force of justice and pea —"

"Shut up and listen, spirit!" Samael cut the ardent spirit's speech. "What do you intend to do with those ingredients? Spare me that happy tale about separation you from Anders this time, all right?" They both observed each other, estimating what the other one knew and how. The kitten was glaring at Hawke with an expression asking him what was wrong with him.

"He knows," Justice breathed out finally, the blue light darkening.

"Indeed I know, spirit. I know you have no intentions to separate you two from each other and I know what are you about to do with those powerful ingredients you demanded from me." The assassin's voice was quiet and oddly calm.

"I won't tell you!" Justice shook the rogue, his eyes shooting blue lightning.

"Oh, I don't want to know which building or person or whatever you intend to blow up, you fool!" It was Samael's turn to shake the mage, accompanied with a disdainful grin.

"You… don't?" Justice lowered his head and when he straightened it three seconds afterwards, Samael realized it was Anders again, staring at him in awe.

"I want nothing to do with it, do you hear me? Whatever you're plotting against the Templars, Gallows, or Viscount Dumar, I don't want to know. I… do… not… care. Understood? You won't get those substances from me. You can buy them at the Black Emporium, you've got enough gold now," Samael grimaced, glancing at the fat pouch of gold with a reward for the Dalish apostate. "Or don't buy them, I really don't care. As far as it won't influence me, Merrill, my friends, my tailor, my blacksmith, whomever or whatever I care for or need. The moment you would turn on me I will kill you, Anders. Got it?" Samael grasped the mage's robes at the neckline, pulling him closer to underline his words.

An unbelieving and liberating smile sprawled out on the Anders' face when he realized Hawke was serious and that he wouldn't turn him in, punish him or simply kill him.

"Wipe that smile away, you fool." Samael growled and let go of him. "I am no ally of yours. You're on your own." With those words Samael turned around, strolling out of the clinic.

"I was always on my own, Hawke," a sad, hesitant voice echoed in the room when Samael reached the clinic door. He didn't turn back to face the mage when he whispered "Aren't we all?" and vanished into Darktown.


	13. Chapter 13

_Title: Beyond the Mirror Chp. 13_

_Author: LadyDragonka_

_Game: Dragon Age 2_

_Characters/pairing: M!Hawke, Merrill_

_Disclaimer:_

_Bioware owns Dragon Age universe and its characters._

_Do not paw Samael & Fawn & Ichabod. They're mine!_

"Boring! Boring! Snoring!" Samael threw the books at Varric one by one, shouting every word a bit louder than the previous one.

"All right, Hawke! Have it your way! Stay forever this silly, awkward oaf without any political acumen or actual influence on anything!" Varric lost his composure, kicking the books about diplomacy or decent behavior lying around him.

Merrill crawled to Samael's ankles on all four, giggling and dragging the empty wine bottle with her. "He's… he's not silly, Varric. He is… he's so smart and… mine, and…" she burst out laughing, hugging her lover's thighs with such a vigour she took him down. Varric observed the two wallowing lovers kissing each other with a patronizing cold look, shaking his head. He sighed and keeled over next to Aveline who was holding her still first glass of red wine and was submerged in a serious debate with Sebastian about the Chantry involvement regarding the Qunari. They both fell silent, glancing at the grumpy dwarf muttering to himself something about reckless boys good for nothing, then their gaze landed on the lovers as well, whispering something and pawing each other in a tight hug.

The noise coming from the table was telling them Fawn was just about to convict Isabela of cheating during their Wicked Grace game, Fenris was guffawing, spilling the wine all over his chest and Anders was cuddled by his side, snoring and dead to the world. Ichabod was fidgeting on his chair there, obviously not participating the game, then he slid closer to the blonde mage and started tying a garish ribbon he found in his pocket around his forehead. His parrot was swaying on his shoulder, watching its master's doing with a cocked head.

"I have no clue how this irresponsible lad with his frolicsome elf became our leader and how he gained his wealth, but it certainly wasn't because of his diplomacy or skills." Varric gave a wry shake of his head nodding towards the lovers. Samael was still sitting on the floor, leaning back on the wall now and gulping down the nearest bottle with alcohol he found; Merrill was straddling him and clinging to him like a tick with a blissful expression on her face.

Both Varric and Sebastian were surprised when Aveline said with an indulgent voice "Leave them be, Varric. They deserve some time to be reckless and… blithe." Her voice trailed off as her eyes got veiled with tears when she recalled Samael's venomous speech at the Coast. She avoided Donnic during this last week with a strict stubbornness although he tried to speak with her several times.

"Does that mean you forgave me?" A penitent voice made Aveline twitch and when she looked up Samael was standing right next to her with a limp Merrill in his arms.

"I certainly did not," Aveline pierced him with an indignant glare and Hawke just shrugged like he would ask again a few days later then. A shy hand touching his shoulder made Samael glance behind him and he was once again ensnared with those empty milky eyes, gaping at him.

"What is it, Ichabod?" Hawke asked politely since this was Ichabod Bane's mansion.

"If I may borrow you, Messere Samael?" Ichabod's grasp on his shoulder tightened and he bared a golden tooth at Samael.

"Don't Messere me, Ichabod. Call me Samael. What do you need?" he asked, nervously watching Ichabod's fidgeting and crackpot chuckling.

"Let's play a game, oh yes a funky game indeed," he squinted at the passed out Merrill with a lewd expression.

"Sure, why not?" Samael laughed and they both sat down to a small table, Samael still holding his woman on a lap now. Ichabod pulled out three walnut shells and a single pea, grinning at his opponent when the rest of them came closer, curious about what was going on.

"You guess where's the pea, lad. If you find it, you are free to ask me a question. If not, I will be the one asking you a single question and you would be obligated to answer it." Ichabod started his speech with a dark cackling, but it eventually turned into an ominous sneer. Samael stopped laughing when he realized this wasn't just for fun, yet he nodded in agreement, watching the white eyes flashing in the darkened room.

It was like the parrot was just waiting for Hawke's willingness to play games with its master and then it flew away from his shoulder, squawking "Man overboard, man overboard!"

"Let's begin then!" Samael laughed again but this time his smile didn't reach his eyes, yet nobody noticed; nobody but Ichabod.

Ichabod covered the pea with a shell and started moving the shells, but he was rather clumsy, moving them slowly enough to follow the correct shell.

"Follow the pea! Where's the pea! Ask my aunt, ask my pup or ask thee!" Ichabod rasped, stopping moving the shells with a victory grin. They all were watching him with their mouths hanging, wondering if this was a bad joke or if Ichabod was serious.

A mute question regarding Ichabod's sanity crossed Samael's mind again, but he appointed a middle shell in silence, Ichabod lifted it up and scowled at the pea beneath it. The watchers burst out laughing, patting Samael's shoulder, others tittering about Ichabod's poor attempt to confuse Hawke.

"Ask," Ichabod glared at Samael, setting his jaw after this terse statement.

"Well, what about your eyes? Why are they, you know, white, without pupils or, you know…?" Samael scratched his head, his eyes fixed on Ichabod's face.

"I was a naughty, naughty boy and the Qunari plucked them away. These white marbles are just… a grotty substitute." Ichabod replied immediately, bored, like he had expected this question from the beginning.

"But you do see me! How it comes that—"

"Eh-eh, lad! Just one question allowed!" Ichabod interrupted him, all but shouting his objection. "Now, here we go, where we go! Where we go, nobody knows!" He shuffled the shells again with an unexpected dexterity, his hands turning into a smudge. "Tadaaa!" he yelled afterwards, gesturing towards the shells.

"Uhm, that was… quick," Samael scratched his head again, realizing Merrill had woken up and watched the game as well. "This one?" he pointed his finger at the left one.

"HA!" Ichabod guffawed when the shell uncovered an empty spot instead of the pea. "My turn, my turn!" he rubbed his palms, his eyes gliding over the Hawke's body. Everybody expected a naughty question judging by Ichabod's salacious expression and they all fell silent when the question finally cut through the air. "Are you able to love?"

Samael froze on the spot after this simple, yet complex question, staring at his rival awestricken. His gaze then slipped at Merrill who was now facing him, waiting for his answer breathless.

"Yes. Yes, I'm still… capable of love," Samael breathed out an answer into deafening silence, staring at the tipped-over shell. His eyes clashed with Ichabod's a second later and Samael glimpsed a brief smile on his lips.

"Abandon the ship! Abandon the ship!" They all twitched at the parrot's croaking, but no one laughed this time as an awkward silence crept back into the room.

"Five'll get to ten, ten'll get to twenty, fifty'll get to hundred, double your money, double your money, just catch it once! One time, one time, one time!" They all jumped as Ichabod cried out, scrambling the shells in an insane pace once more.

"But you're not playing for money," Varric dared point out the obvious.

"You need to hypnotize with your words!" Ichabod looked up at him, genuinely surprised he had to explain something that basic. "And I can hypnotize with my cat-like movement as well!" Ichabod roared in laughter, but it was a sound that chilled their bones. He shuffled the shells again in almost imperceptible moves. "Now how slick was that?" he asked the audience, an ugly grin on his lips.

Samael's quiet voice entered the uncomfortable silence that followed after a moment. "Do you know why people play the shell game, Ichabod?" he asked in a light conversational tone.

"They think they can beat the odds," Ichabod squirmed in his armchair, his fingers floating above the shells.

"Wrong. They think they can beat you. They think they're smarter than you. In this case they're right," Samael sneered, because now he knew for sure Ichabod was playing some nasty game with him and he refused to be his toy thing.

"Maybe I'm smarter than you think, _Samael Hawke_," Ichabod leaned forward and suddenly he looked very sane and serious.

"You're smart enough to play stupid then?" Samael didn't realize it but his grasp on Merrill's torso was tightening along with his rising anxiety.

"I'm so smart I'm practically retarded!" Ichabod crackled with an insane voice, tilting his head up. "Now, lad, where's the pea, hm?" he pierced Samael with his peculiar eyes again, crouching above the shells like a hunchback with a vulture expression.

Samael had no idea where the freaking pea was, so he just pointed the middle shell, not taking his blazing eyes off his rival's face. Ichabod's face darkened since the shell revealed the pea.

"My turn," Samael hissed, leaning backwards in his armchair. "Have we met before?" he went all in, watching Ichabod with his eyes narrowed.

"Yes," a calm answer came right away along with a raised hand forbidding Samael asking the next obvious question - where or when. Ichabod then mixed up the shells in such rapid movement they all were able just to see his gaunt hands flashing in the dim light of several shortening candles. He peered askance at the silent Samael who once more had no idea where the pea was, but he was growing tired of this odd game, so he just appointed the right shell, intending to end this charade soon.

The shell revealed no pea again and a rhapsodic smile sprawled out on Ichabod's face. He watched Hawke while the rest of them were staring at them with rapt attention for a long minute before he asked his question.

"What makes you think your father's dead,_ Samael Hawke_?" Ichabod made sure his words were slow, lucid and… mocking. If Samael had expected a very unpleasant and prodding question, this exceeded his worst anticipation. Nothing could have prepared him for this pointless reopening of his old wound only to realize it was still very much alive and agonizing. Samael pushed Merrill gently out of his lap and bolted out of the mansion, reeling like a drunk. They all watched his flight in silence, their faces mirroring miscellaneous emotions, but somehow they knew his staggering wasn't because of the alcohol.

oOo

When Samael took a deep breath behind the closed front door he realized he needed to get further than that from Ichabod, the curious companions and their persistent questions. He hadn't thought twice before he started running away, running like a little boy that broke a window with his slingshot. His lungs happily inhaled the fresh warm breeze which was growing salt with every step he took closer to the sea. When he reached his usual spot in the docks he was panting and he bended over, staring at the horizon which was darkening with purple and reddish shades.

When his breathing calmed down he sat down on his step, only to jump up a second later, pacing on the last step leading to water like a predator unable to cross the sea, but wishing indeed it could. Why Ichabod felt like bringing up his father was beyond him. And he said they had met before, but Samael had no clue who this man was or what were his intentions. A familiar ship with white reefed sails and a name _Crab's Crap_ on side caught his eyes and Hawke halted in the middle of a step, bewildered by the sight. It was his ship now. At this very moment Samael could have run to the Hanged Man to gather a small crew there and pull up the anchor, leaving these cursed Kirkwall shores immediately. All right, maybe he would grab Merrill first. And Charon. All right, maybe he would have to pick up his treasure first, hidden in several places. And say goodbye to his friends of course.

Samael sighed. Clearly he couldn't afford to leave this city yet, but he was also sure he would realize when the time would come, when he would be free to leave, all the business wrapped up here properly, all goodbyes said in time and he would finally head back home to Fereldan. Ah, Fereldan. How often he had lived through a runaway from the Lothering again and again in his dreams, faces of his dead kin peering at him from every corner. A ring literally squirmed on his finger in urgency, ripping him out of his gloomy ruminating and the ring stone illuminated his face with a deep mossy green flashes when he brought the hand in front of his face. Merrill was searching for him; he was able to feel her anxiety about his disappearance and her indecision about not wanting to disturb him when he ran away to be alone.

"I should have known you were incapable of doing such a simple task as searching the coast for my brethren," a familiar voice grumbled behind him, but Samael didn't bother with turning around and facing the Arishok.

"I have been looking for your precious karataam for hours there. Not my fault there were simply no traces of any Qunari corpses, belongings, or whatever," Samael shrugged, collapsing on the upper step, hypnotized by the horizon again. The sun had already drowned in the sea and the first veiled stars were peering shyly at the world beneath them.

"You are upset," the Arishok threw in a casual comment after several minutes of comfortable silence during which he had sat down next to Hawke who was still lost in his thoughts.

"I'm upset," Samael echoed the statement with a distant expression, not taking his eyes from the sea.

"Why are you upset?" Hawke was surprised when he noticed a genuine interest in the Qunari's question.

"A man reminded me of things I decided to suppress forever if possible, yet they keep haunt me like the hell hounds. I see them every time I look back, sniffing me, grinning at me, like they are about to grab me by my ankle and never let go…" Samael's thoughtful voice trailed off as he realized he let himself go off guard, saying his whirling thoughts out loud.

"There must be a reason you keep returning here, Hawke." The Arishok's words were hesitant indeed, but his curiosity bested his intentions to keep neutral and unconcerned.

"It's… quiet here." Samael replied, but the question kept burning him. "It's not here like in the Hightown - mess, everyone is rushing somewhere, everyone constantly wants something from me…" He picked up a little stone fallen off from the stairs and hurled it with all his might as far into the sea as possible. "This is little spot which is only mine by night, where I can breathe freely and think," Samael glanced at the Qunari who was observing Samael's profile thoughtfully.

"Do you mind if I share this spot with you at night?" the Arishok asked in his own forthright way. It occurred to Samael how easier would be the relationships among people if everybody was this honest and outspoken.

"No," he replied when he thought about the question for ten seconds. "No, I do not mind. In our own way we're both condemned to stay here and we can only wish that one day we both would return home." Arishok was able to detect a bitter undertone, but before he could say anything Samael turned to him, looking straight into his bottomless dark eyes with a careworn expression he hadn't seen in the proud human's face before.

"I'm… stuck here, Qunari. Surely you know the feeling. I would love to return home, but I can't. Not yet, at least," Samael sighed, glancing at his listener again.

"So why can't you? What is it that keeps you here?" Arishok rubbed his ear, removing an elaborate golden jewel off it.

"And what keeps _you_ here?" Hawke countered with a gutsy question.

"I'm denied the Par Vollen until I find what was… lost," the Arishok finished his statement in whispering like nobody was supposed to hear that, not even Hawke. When Samael saw the Qunari wouldn't say more and that his eyes were asking him mutely about the same thing, he just sighed.

"It's complicated. I still have much to do here, not to mention I'm held in check by the Viscount on matters concerning yourself and your lovely minions." Samael shot a fretful glare at the silent Qunari who just leaned backwards, supporting himself on his grey muscular arms. Samael almost forgot he wasn't alone when the Qunari broke the silence after a long pause.

"You should see it one day," he muttered more like to himself than to Hawke.

"See what?" Samael snorted with an arched eyebrow.

"You cruise the Venefication sea during the starless nights, during the perfidious storms with forked lightning crossing the sky, during the calm days when the sun hangs high above your head and you retire to your small ship cabin to hide from that merciless burning sunlight. You are restless when you reach the waters of the Northern Passage, knowing your mind is calling just for one thing and one thing only. And one morning when the mist lifts up suddenly, you can see it…" the Arishok's voice died away and he wasn't aware that Samael was watching in rapture his almost dreamy face during this long ardent speech.

"See what?" Samael breathed out after a moment of silence, impatient to know and intrigued.

"The white shores of Par Vollen, the familiar rugged cliffs welcoming you and you are grateful when the breeze shifts and you can smell… home." The Arishok rounded up his narration, not really realizing that he had just revealed himself to a petty human, the one he was supposed to abhor and overlook. If the Qunari was concerned that Hawke would mock him for this unusual outburst or his yearning for home, he could remain calm since Samael was speechless and a faint smile was frozen on his lips.

"You do realize your Saarebas has been watching us for long minutes now, right Hawke?" the Arishok interrupted his musing and Samael realized how distracted and lost in thoughts he had been since he had no idea they weren't alone. Usually he was perfectly aware of everything that was happening around him.

"Did you command it to look over you?" the Arishok scowled like he was insulted by the idea that Hawke thought he might have suddenly attacked him.

"No!" Samael shook his head, dispelling this thought. "And it's _she_, not _it_, Qunari," he chided the giant and glanced behind him just in time to spot a hasty movement in the shadows behind the column. He shook his head, this time with a tender smile tweaking his lips, feeling like he would like to concoct a little game now as well.

Merrill peered again from behind a column, murmuring to herself when she was able to see only one silhouette sitting by the water instead of two.

"Looking for something here?" A familiar husky voice made her jump up and whirl around; she managed to knock over a column of wicker baskets as she did so. "Or perhaps someone?" a voice continued and there he was, leaning on the wall casually like he was there the whole time she was spying on them.

"I… I had no idea where you went and—" Merrill faltered, closing the distance between them. Samael suddenly realized she might not have headed here to look for him, but to convince herself the ship was still berthed and he wasn't on his way to Fereldan without her. It was just a brief idea and silly indeed but who the hell was supposed to know what was going on in that little head of hers?

Samael had only one possible answer for her worries and doubt since his lips devoured hers, letting her know how deeply he appreciated she was here for him. The Arishok glanced behind him only once when the soft moans coming from the darkness exceeded some limit and he just rolled his eyes. Why the humans were so determined to engage themselves in this disgusting habit was completely beyond him, yet his eyes lingered at the silhouettes of the lovers longer than he was willing to admit to himself.

oOo

Merrill remained silent during their journey back home, adapting to Samael's slow pace like he was considering every step he made towards his estate. His mood was wildly vacillating between soul-rending because of the memories Ichabod had awakened inside of him, ambiguous emotions he had about him and his thoughts were disoriented and adrift in uncertainty and longing for his homeland.

Merrill could see his disconnection and the fluctuating shades of amber inside of the ring stone told her not to interfere into his internal struggle. It was simply enough that they were together and she was sure she would have come up with some silly ramble no doubt which would only annoy her lover even further. Her thoughts were whirling around Samael's father about whom he refused to speak with an avowed sorrow, then she got angry with Ichabod for bringing him up at all.

Their long shared bath passed in silence and without usual teasing and pawing each other and once they lay in the bed Merrill had no idea if she was supposed to remain silent, try to sooth him, or to avert his attention elsewhere. A sudden idea crossed her mind and she pulled a comb out of her night table, smiling to herself about her own shrewdness. Samael was lying on his belly, naked under the blanket coiled at his waistband and he had his blank face turned away from her.

Still without words, Merrill started untangling a few thick braids in his hair. He stirred but stayed still. When she made sure his hair was now loose she grabbed the comb and started to rake it through the black hair veil with slow and long moves, paying attention not to pull the hair. She had to smile again when she noticed goose bumps on his skin and her doing eventually drew a content hum from her lover. Who could have guessed this was the same person dragging the apostates mercilessly into the Gallows one by one, the same hands sowing death around him, the same hands that were playing passionate games with her body and soul night by night.

Merrill didn't realize she stopped combing and her pensive hands were caressing the broad back now, her eyes fixed on the matte black hair scattered on the pillow. Samael slowly flipped over, facing her now.

"Samael, when Ichabod asked you about love…" Merrill regretted her words already since her lover's relaxed face darkened immediately.

"It's all right, Merrill. What do you want to know?" he sighed finally.

"Why did you hesitate before saying you can love something? Love someone…" her voice was almost inaudible now, but Samael knew well she was asking him if he loved her. No, he wasn't ready to say it out loud, possibly never.

"Merrill, look, the only woman I have ever told I… that word… that woman had run away from me a day later without a word. Yes, I was just a boy back then, a silly boy with his head in the fluffy clouds with singing birdies," his eyes were set on the Dalish woman, but he wasn't really looking at her.

"Was it…?" Merrill asked after a minute.

"Yes, it was Lornalin, a woman who was my teacher for two years in the Lothering," he smiled against his will when her face flooded his mind. "But it's over for long years now," he continued when he noticed her restlessness and a flash of jealousy running across her face.

"But what if she shows up here suddenly? What if… she would want you back? Or what if she wasn't really gone the whole time and—" Merrill's words were like a waterfall of her exquisite ramble, her eyes wide open as she vividly imagined a faceless woman trying to steal him from her. Samael reacted with a light smile on his lips, shaking his head about her foolishness regarding their relationship.

"You have nothing to worry about, my little pariah," he whispered, pulling her down for a long tender kiss. Merrill moaned and her hand started automatically descending down across his firm belly beneath the blanket, but Samael caught it, breaking the kiss.

"Merrill, I…" he breathed out, painfully aware of her widened eyes gazing over his body. "Could we just… sleep?" he finished his clumsy question. Merrill watched him with a poorly hidden disquiet, ruminating if it really was her lover in front of her, usually unable to sleep without a bout of good night sex. Or two.

"Of course," she replied finally, fidgeting and pulling a blanket over herself.

Samael did notice her unease, but he just desperately needed to sleep it all off, not able to concentrate on anything right now. Merrill was completely taken aback when he shifted in the bed so he lay on his side, facing her, and he buried his head in her chest, inhaling deeply of her pale, clean skin right between her breasts and folding his arms between them. Maybe it was this vulnerable position he had assumed that convinced her everything between them was just fine and Samael just needed to rest and he needed her to hold him like a little boy so his awakened memories would go back to slumber deep in his mind again. Merrill smiled to herself when his hair tickled her under the chin and she let her arms slipped around him with a content sigh. She felt like she had him, all of him, in her own hands, having a hold over him like never before. With that last pleasant thought, she closed her eyes and entered the Fade.


	14. Chapter 14

Merrill blinked a few times when the sunlight woke her up the next morning. Samael lay next to her on his stomach, his black long hair scattered wildly on the pillow making a perfect contrast with the white fine fabric of the sheets.

Samael was normally always the first one awake, watching her with a teasing smile on his lips when Merrill woke up or sitting in his favorite armchair, entertaining himself with his thoughts. She had never seen him actually sleeping, not even once – until this day. The soft snores coming from him and his fluttering eyelashes let her know he was still in a sound sleep and it occurred to Merrill this was probably for the first time when Samael was completely off guard in her presence. Possibly in anyone's presence.

While she was waiting for him to wake up on his own, she reminisced about the last night at Ichabod's mansion and her face darkened. Something in that stranger's voice and face made her tense and suspicious about this human, however Varric claimed to have known him for long time, saying Ichabod was his friend. Her arms slipped pensively around her lover like she was determined to protect him with all her might and skills against whatever Ichabod had hidden up his sleeve.

When Samael finally stirred and squinted into the sunlight, Merrill had to smile about his grumpy expression and barely unstuck eyes. She figured out it wouldn't be wise to bring up yesterday events or how he felt about them; he had showed her how he felt at night after all and she was the only one who was allowed to see this vulnerable and weak part of him.

"Pancakes?" Merrill whispered between two good morning kisses, making him laugh about this practical attitude.

"Hum… later," he flipped her beneath him, holding her arms above her head.

A triple knock broke the moment; Samael glanced at the bedroom door, shouting "Come back in a half an hour!" Then his gaze slipped back into Merrill's lucid eyes and he realized he had to refine his statement. "Come back in two hours!" he yelled and Merrill pulled him down again, impatient.

"Messere Hawke, the Captain is demanding your presence and I have an impression it's about a very serious matter, so—" Bodahn's concerned voice was interrupted with a snort and the door was almost kicked open, Aveline rushing in.

Merrill squeaked, burying herself under the blankets, and Samael just sat up in the bed, scratching his back on the iron bed frame, simply glaring at the intruder.

"Hawke! I need you to come with me!" Aveline blurted out, tossing his breeches and under tunic by the bed at him.

"Just a few more minutes, mom—" Samael sneered at her, fishing for the elf in the tangle of pillows, blankets and sheets.

"NOW! And that better be Merrill!" Aveline gave him a patronizing look, gesturing towards the giggling bundle under the blankets. "Hurry!" she marched away, scolding him like a little boy. The sitting Samael collapsed back in the bed again, grimacing Aveline's command, and Merrill peered at him from under her cover, crawling on the top of him. Samael hissed when she bit his nipple and he spanked her, making her giggle again.

"I said now!" a cold order came from the main hall. The lovers just sighed and climbed out of the bed.

"She seriously needs to get laid…" Samael muttered to himself, dressing up and ogling the witch.

oOo

"Why don't you tell me what's going on?" Hawke demanded an explanation from the Captain, annoyed.

"You need to see that with your own eyes and besides that the Viscount himself ordered me to bring you along," Aveline stomped through the Lowtown with her men, heading for the docks. Samael wished he could scrape that self-important smirk off her face. Once they had reached the docks there was a barricade where the Guardsmen were patrolling. Aveline nodded at them and they were allowed to enter – Aveline then slowed her pace like she was musing if she should prepare them for what they would see in a minute, but apparently nothing came to her so she just pushed aside two young Guards recruits who were staring into the Qunari compound and she gestured inside.

Nothing could have prepared Samael and Merrill for the scene there. A thick, black chain was hanging across the narrow corridor leading to the compound and severed Qunari arms and legs were swaying in the air. The flesh was pale and bloodless, neat, and with the Qunari red paint on it. While Samael was observing in a cold demeanor the unexpected present someone had left here at night, Merrill staggered backwards and hid herself behind the Samael's back, clutching his leather jerkin and peering at the grey brawny leg swinging above her head.

"I told you to leave her home," Aveline whispered to Hawke, watching the elven girl's eyes popping out of her head. Samael just shrugged, glancing behind him.

"She has seen worse, I guess," he whispered back and his lips twisted into something what could have been a smile only if they weren't standing under the parts of Qunari corpses. "Although I don't understand, why did you insist I see this? Yay – the dead Qunari. So what? What do you expect me to do?" Samael sneered and stepped back to take a look at the entire scene. He had to admit it was quite impressive, if that someone who did that intended to piss off the Arishok.

Aveline just sighed, rubbing her forehead. "I told you the order came from the Viscount's office and the Arishok himself asked me, quite politely I must admit, to bring you along." Aveline finished her answer with her eyes narrowed in suspicion like she was wondering what Samael could have possibly done to snatch the Qunari leader's attention.

"Stay here," Hawke whispered to Merrill, brushing a thumb across her lower lip and then he glanced at the Captain like she was supposed to look after her. Aveline just rolled her eyes, but nodded back in agreement. Samael then strolled into the compound where the Qunari were buzzing and growling about what had happened, but they were simultaneously parting in front of the silent Hawke marching towards the Arishok's armchair. He halted there, waiting for the Arishok to look down at him since he had one severed arm lying across his lap and he was staring at it intently as if it could tell him what had happened to its former owner.

When the Arishok stayed hunched and silent, Hawke just shrugged and seated himself on the step by the armchair, polishing his katana with a strip of black fabric, waiting patiently for the Arishok to speak first.

"Why did you come?" was the Qunari's first reaction at the Hawke's presence after ten minutes of silence.

"The Viscount's order," Samael replied in a light tone, glancing behind him, then continuing his work. "And… you asked me to," he added after a moment, although his tone was uneasy suddenly. He tried to deal with his anxiety in his own way though. "I guess… a few more nights and you will have your precious karataam back," he chuckled mirthlessly to himself, but the Arishok grabbed the arm on his lap and hit Hawke's shoulder with it. Samael jumped up, tightening the grasp on his katana. The whole compound fell silent, watching the scene and a few of them pulled out their spears waiting for the leader's order to crush that little human worm, foolish enough to come among them without fear and humility. The Arishok slowly rose to his full height to underline his superiority.

Samael's amber eyes were clashing with the Arishok's shark eyes for one long minute, the Qunari then glanced at the katana he had admired before before he sank back into his armchair, setting the severed arm across his lap again. The giant's words about his wish to return home and his unexpected tender description of his homeland back at night made Samael lower his weapon, collapsing on the step again.

"You really don't think much before you open your filthy mouth, do you, Hawke…" the Qunari grumbled just as loud so only Samael could catch these words and he was surprised that they didn't sound angry or annoyed – more like amused and lenient.

"Any idea who did that?" Samael swiveled his head to face the Arishok, but then he realized his question was futile and silly since the whole Kirkwall hated the Qunari compound and the murderers of the karataam could be anyone. Samael didn't think for just a second this was the artwork of one person, but maybe he should have thought twice about this idea.

The Arishok just snorted at the question and only Samael's raised hand stopped him from preaching about this hated place, useless Viscount and the sheep instead of city dwellers.

"I'll try to help, Qunari, but don't expect miracles from me. I'm already involved enough in this mess, so I guess it won't get worse if I tickle some people who might stand behind this or at least know anything about this…" Samael's voice trailed off as he was thinking about where he should get started, but his words weren't obviously enough for the warped Qunari leader.

"You're completely USELESS, Hawke!" his voice thundered in the crammed compound as the Arishok jumped up, pacing on the steps. Samael remained calm despite the fact his short temper was about to explode at that insult. His hands trembling in wrath were continuing the polishing the weapon although Hawke was contemplating about cutting that brute's head off, then ask the head to apologize for those harsh words.

"I need you to find those responsible for these murders of my people, drag them in the middle of the Viscount's keep courtyard, gather your good for nothing people there and then let me tear the murderers' hearts out in front of everyone!" the Arishok was raging around and he finished his impressive speech with a slowly closing fist so Samael would be able to see just how much the Arishok would love to crush some human hearts.

"Are you done?" Samael asked coldly, slowly standing up. "Because I am," he turned his back to Arishok, slowly making his way out of there after that insult. He expected the Arishok to stop him if he was smart enough not to let the only person willing to help him leave, and he really did, although the choked plea came right before Samael was about to leave the compound for good.

"Wait!" Samael stopped at that terse exclamation, waiting if the Arishok would say anything else. Judging by the silence that followed the Arishok possessed the same diplomatic skills as Samael in this area and he had no idea what should he say or do right now. Samael turned around and stomped back with a properly sullen expression although inside he felt like laughing. They talked for an hour, debating about the situation and Samael definitely lost the awareness of time in there, but the unexpected noise by the Qunari gate make them interrupt the conversation and glance there – the huge Qunari held Merrill by her arm, yanking her out of Qunari territory. Samael set his narrowed eyes at the Arishok; he understood and stood up to settle the quarrel.

"Let the Hawke's Saarebas pass!" he ordered and the Qunari let go of the elf's arm immediately, glancing at his leader if he wouldn't be punished. Merrill stumbled through the silent Qunari to Hawke, watching in awe Samael's relaxed position and the bowl of grapes the Arishok had ordered brought to them.

"I was worried, Samael, I…" Merrill peeped, her eyes widened and fidgeting under the Arishok's scrutiny. Samael jumped up, nodding at the Arishok like they came to an understanding and there was nothing more to say. He followed the Arishok's gaze locked at the elf and he stalked to the giant, sneering.

"Like I said, Qunari, paw your own Saarebas," he whispered to the Qunari, a teasing smile on his lips. The Arishok coughed, feeling awkward that his lustful staring was so obvious, and he gave Hawke a subtle bow before leaving.

oOo

Later that day a small group was strolling through the darkening Lowtown, laughing loudly and cracking jokes. When Samael made sure nobody was looking at him, his hand found Merrill's cold one under the cover of night and the elven girl pressed herself onto him. Varric just glanced at those pigeons, then his gaze landed back at the elven arcane warrior who was oddly quiet tonight, but the dwarf kept marching towards their destination – a construction site of the Hanged Man. The smell of raw wood and raised columns ready for a roof made Varric gasp in relief and impatience to have a home again, since Corff had promised him his room back – and even bigger than the previous one.

The mild breeze brought raised voices to them and Samael was able to glimpse a Chantry sister disappearing in a dark alley along with a dubiously looking thug, rubbing his hands behind the Sister's back.

"Another moron, not aware she should have stayed praying in her precious Chantry tonight…" Samael muttered to himself, snaking his arms around his fidgety elf.

"C'mon, Hawke, where's your sense for justice and an obsessive need to help?" Varric smirked at Hawke, stroking Bianca thoughtfully.

"I left them in my other pants," Samael sneered in reply, accompanied by Merrill's giggling and pawing him.

"If you two are done fucking each other through your clothes I suggest we should look what's happening in that dark alley," Varric talked to his hand, raised in front of his face, like he was checking on his fingernails.

"Whatever," Samael sighed, pulling his hand back from Merrill's… private place.

When they reached the dark corner of Lowtown, a most peculiar scene opened to them. A Chantry sister, laying on the ground, held by two bastards, a leader thug unlacing his breeches to have his way with her.

"Hum, I'll come back later if I'm interrupting something," Samael grimaced at the nearest thug, unsheathing his unbelievably long katana.

"Get 'em, boys!" the boss shouted, groping for his pathetic excuse for a sword. His affords were futile since his head was happily rolling on the ground in a minute along with various body parts of his comrades. One last young lad was crouching in the corner, his short sword clanged on the stone as he watched Hawke approaching him with his bloody katana ready to chop off his head as well. Samael cocked his head as he watched the young trembling boy, he might be fifteen or sixteen years old with long blonde dirty hair and almond-shaped hazel eyes. Hawke yanked the lad by his neckline closer to him, until their noses almost touched.

Tell me, lad, what's your name?" Samael spoke first, so calm and casual, like he was talking about the dinner.

"M-my n-name is Hein, Serah Hawke," the youngster stammered, his eyes widened in utter horror now, expecting the embrace of death any second.

"So you do know my name, Hein… interesting," Samael stroked the boy's jaw, setting his lethal blade at the boy's throat with his other hand. "Tell me, young man, how much exactly do you want to live?" Samael continued in his interrogation.

"I… I'll do anything, Serah Hawke!" the lad almost yelled his desperate wish, need, demand, plea. Hawke leaned even closer to the young man, whispering, "Run, little rabbit," before he let the boy go.

"I'm impressed, Hawke. You actually let him live," Varric said after a moment of silence, and his voice wasn't sardonic or mocking – it was thoughtful and distant.

"I'm a secret philanthropist, dwarf," Samael grimaced at him, stalking to the shaken Chantry Sister.

"Off you go, Sister, back to the Chantry," he helped her up, dusting her robes.

"The Maker himself led you here tonight, child," the Sister blessed the surprised Hawke, clutching his jerkin like she wouldn't let go of him – ever. "I'm Sister Petrice," the Chantry woman introduced herself with a subtle bow. "I might have an offer for you and the reward will be… immense indeed," she continued in a light tone, but Hawke did notice that something was terribly off about this Sister. Not to mention she seemed calm and cold, not like a pious woman who had just almost been raped.

"Well, may the Maker bake with you, Sister, but I'm not looking for any redemption in the Maker's eyes," Samael threw a comment behind his back, leaving the place already.

"I have a Saarebas, Hawke!" the Sister said in a slow, vehement voice, waiting for his reaction.

"You don't say…" Samael stopped, but didn't turn around. "And what do you intend to do with him?" he asked cautiously, like he didn't care much about the answer. Then it came to him that he hadn't introduced himself to the Sister, yet she knew his name. Yes, something was definitely off here.

"I hoped someone would lead that poor thing out of the city. You should see him, Hawke! He's collared and mute and oppressed and… alone." Petrice finished her plea hesitantly, trying her best to persuade him.

"I agree," was Samael's immediate and quiet response as he turned back to the Sister who was gaping at him in awe.

"Hawke, you're not serious, right?" Varric droned disturbed. Fawn stayed silent, but even he was watching Hawke with his eyes narrowed.

"I think, it's very sweet of you," Merrill interrupted the dwarf with a dreamy expression on her face.

"Where is he?" Samael asked, getting straight to the point.

"Come with me," Petrice waved her hand, satisfied with herself and her persuasive abilities.

oOo

Their journey through meandering tunnels of Undercity was long and silent. Samael led the way, his hand holding the leash with Ketojan, Merrill was happily skittering around them, Varric occasionally disrupted the silence with choked swearing channeled merely in Hawke's way and Fawn's eyes were set on the huge Qunari mage.

When Samael reached the crossroad, he glanced briefly in the way which led out of Kirkwall, then he yanked the leash gently in the other way, leading to—

"Hawke, you do realize you're going in a wrong direction?" Varric asked, annoyed and not sure how Samael could have made such an obvious mistake.

"Last time I checked I was the one leading this Qunari, dwarf, and believe me – I know where we are going just fine," Samael smirked in return, but then his gaze slipped at Merrill who was staring at him in horror. Fawn's short chuckling about this unexpected twist didn't help her either.

"But… but you said you would set him free?" she caught Hawke's sleeve, shrinking back when the silent Ketojan turned his masked face to her.

"Oh, come on, Merrill!" Samael laughed into her face. "You can't be serious! We happen to meet this odd Chantry bigot who had two Templars hidden in the darkness by the way, waiting for us to 'save her' from disgracing her pure, pure body and then it turns out she has a Qunari mage who has survived no doubt that slaughter of the karataam you have witnessed today. I don't know what intentions that Sister Petrice have, but it ain't this creature's freedom or some noble idea."

"You promised to this… Saarebas… a freedom, Hawke!" Merrill shook him, her eyes shooting reddish flames. She squealed when Ketojan set his huge hand gently on her shoulder like he was trying to say everything was all right.

"I haven't discussed my decisions with anyone before unless I asked for advice myself, Merrill, and I certainly won't start doing that right now!" Samael glared at her, challenging her to tempt his temper further.

"It's a mindless beast, Merrill. It belongs to its people. Be reasonable," Fawn entered the debate finally, approaching his kin with reassuring smile on his face. Merrill pushed the Saarebas behind her with an unexpected vigour and might, ripping her staff out of its back sheathe.

"I won't let you touch him! They would kill him, Samael, and you know that!" she shrieked, her voice trembling and echoing in the tunnel. Varric, silent and a bit bored until now, finally decided to settle this ridiculous row.

"Hawke, Daisy…" he addressed them, nodding at both. They twitched, but stopped glaring at each other and turned to the dwarf. "I've glimpsed a very dark alcove with an old crumbling stone pedestal a minute ago," Varric continued in a nonchalant way of conversation. Judging by their arched eyebrows and mute questions what the hell this remark was supposed to mean, they wanted him to continue his speech. "Maybe you two should go in there and fuck each other, because _that_ had worked out so well before instead of actual, you know, talking to each other about stuff—"

"SHUT UP, VARRIC!" the both lovers shouted at the same time the same phrase at the poor dwarf who just raised his palms in an innocent gesture.

At least Samael woke up a bit, taking a deep breath as he stalked to the panting Dalish witch.

"This Saarebas, or Ketojan, or whatever, is going back to the Qunari compound. Now. Do you have any problem with this order?" he asked her slowly, piercing her with his eyes which looked dead black with red highlights in the light of two torches held by Varric and Fawn. Samael noticed the elven arcane warrior tensed, watching the clash of wills in front of him in disquiet.

Merrill lowered her head in defeat and the light of her staff darkened along with her determination to save this creature.

"Good," Samael hissed. "Let's go." He grasped the leash tight again, pushing the Saarebas gently forward.

oOo

"I need to talk to your Arishok, Qunari," Samael strolled to the silent gate keeper, trying to sound calm and firm, although he felt exhausted and uneasy. His fight with Merrill had hurt him.

"This is strange time to ask for an audience, human," the Qunari growled in reply after a minute of silent observing Hawke. He couldn't see Samael's companions and the Saarebas hidden in the darkness.

Samael wanted to counter with some scorching comment, but he realized it would be best to keep calm. Well, easy to say, hard to do. "Tell him I have his Saarebas, you worthless pile of Qunari shit!" Hawke shouted loud enough so he could be heard in the compound. The reaction was as expected – several Qunari rushed to him, talking to each other frantically in their own tongue.

"Silence!" a familiar voice thundered and they all fell silent, including Hawke. At the Samael's sign, Fawn brought Ketojan to the gate, handing the leash to Samael again.

"The Saarebas from my lost karataam," the Arishok breathed out, astonished. "How… What… Why…?" he turned his chiseled face to the motionless Hawke, faltering like a young Qunari spawn.

"We need to talk, Arishok, but not now. I'll explain tomorrow night," Samael replied, making sure the Qunari leader had understood the hint that Samael wished to meet him on their spot at docks tomorrow night. The Qunari glanced at him, bowing like he would be there. Samael handed him over the leash which was accompanied with Merrill's choked sob coming from outside of the Qunari camp. He didn't know why he did that, but Samael patted the Qunari mage's arm tenderly and left the compound with downcast eyes.

oOo

"How! Could! You! Do! That!" With her every shouted word Merrill threw at her lover something – a book, a vase, a fireplace poker, then herself when nothing was left around her and she pounded his chest with clenched fists.

"It was necessary." Samael replied after a moment, pushing her away, but Merrill wasn't done.

"One time I think you might do actually something nice, and it turns out that you lied anyway! You… you!" Merrill continued her rampage and Bodahn's face which had peered at them from around the kitchen corner disappeared immediately when yet another copper vase flew dangerously close to him.

"You know nothing about the Qunari, Merrill!" Samael lost his patience and yelled at her back. "He's collared for a good reason and a lone Saarebas is as dangerous as any—" Samael fell silent, realizing what he was about to say.

"Any apostate, you wanted to say?" Merrill pushed him with all her strength, making him stagger a step backwards.

"Actually, yes, any mad apostate or a blood mage craving the power!" Samael clenched her shoulders, letting her know that he wouldn't tolerate her outburst much longer.

"You bloody hypocrite!" Samael couldn't believe she actually had shouted those words right into his face and he forced himself to think about a blossoming meadow, a jug of delicious mead and somehow an empty whiteness of Ichabod's eyes flooded his mind, calming him down for a second. Alas - Merrill ruined his re-found repose with her next words.

"So why do you keep me? Your personal apostate, elven, pointy-eared, painted, silly—" Merrill cried out, desperate, not knowing anymore what she was saying, and Samael interrupted her and his deadly quiet voice should tell her to get a hold of herself again.

"Are you done?" he shook her rougly, staring into her eyes, their noses almost touching.

"—silly, Dalish pet!" Merrill tried unsuccessfully to shake his hands off her and maybe it was just now when she realized what she had said.

Samael loosened his grasp at her, watching her in disbelief and Merrill couldn't believe that for one breathless second a tiny tear appeared in the corner of his right eye, then it disappeared again when he blinked.

"Do you really feel this way about me?" he asked her quietly, his voice hoarse and oddly calm. Before she could have replied anything, he continued. "All right." Samael whispered more to himself than to her, turning around, stalking to the front door, only to return back in front of her again, standing still for a moment.

"I would have given you everything," he brushed a stray strand of her disheveled hair away from her face and then he was gone. Merrill just managed to whisper "Wait…" then collapsed on the floor, tears streaming down her cheeks. She didn't even looked up when she felt Sandal's small gentle hand stroking her back.

oOo

Samael leaned on the closed front door, shivering despite the warm late spring breeze coming from the sea. What the hell just had happened?

"You fool." Samael twitched at that simple statement, but relaxed when he realized it came from the elf, leaning on his estate wall, smoking, searching the sky and blowing the smoke hedonistically up into the sky.

"She didn't want you to leave, you human rascal," Fawn remarked, not taking his eyes from the indigo sky.

"Well, it sounded pretty much like she can't stand me," Samael have no idea why he even bothered with responding.

"Ah, you really are foolish," Fawn chuckled like it was hilarious as hell. "She wanted you to reassure her you love her and make sweet, sweet love to her," Fawn was guffawing now at his own sardonic words like he hadn't said anything funnier in his whole life.

"Screw you," Samael whispered, walking away from the snide elf. A shadow of mabari was sneaking right behind him, like Charon knew his master needed desperately a friend.

"Yeah, screw me..." Fawn's voice trailed off as he watched Hawke disappearing around the corner, pulling a hood over his head.

oOo

"Shove off, whore!" Samael hissed at the elven girl at the Blooming Rose. Just for a second he thought a good fuck with a stranger would do the trick and make him feel better, but the woman only managed to unbutton his white shirt and he found himself pushing her away and shouting misplaced insults at her.

Madame Lusine came near to him, alarmed by his harsh words, but since he was a well-paying customer for years, she just raised a finger at him and refilled his glass of red whine, squeezing his bare shoulder briefly. Then she glanced at the mabari chewing on the bone by his master's feet and drooling on her flamboyant carpet. Lusine just sighed, thinking that this was certainly the very first war dog in her house.

"Oh my! Mighty Hawke in the brothel. I had no idea you have to pay for sex, Samael." A familiar voice interrupted Samael's glum musing, a venom literally dripping off from every word.

"I didn't know you are working here now, Haydée, you know, since I own the lyrium trade in Kirkwall," Samael countered with an equally 'lovely' comment, not even granting her a glance. "And I don't remember allowing you call me with my first name either," he added, sipping the wine and scowling at the glass.

Without permission and with quirkiness only she possessed, Haydée seated herself right next to him on the tawdry sofa, waving at the lad to bring her a drink. Samael shook his head about this impudence, but he just had no strength left to argue with this sharp-witted woman.

"So…" Haydée didn't know where to start. "Where's your pet?" she asked in a light tone, not knowing she had just chafed the already open pulsing wound. When Samael said nothing, gulping down the full glass of wine, Haydée knew immediately what was going on.

"Perhaps you don't see that, Hawke, but you need a strong and smart woman by your side. Someone—" Samael jumped rather rudely into her speech.

"You mean someone like you?" he asked her, his voice bitter, but not without interest.

"Exactly!" Haydée punched his shoulder in a playful way, yet her hand lingered there for a moment. Well – until Samael realized, what she was doing, and he swept the guilty hand off him. The woman then fell silent, until she attempted to break through his silent peel again.

"Let me propose a toast at least," she fluttered her eyelashes at him and Samael had to admit this woman was damned good at manipulating with people. He shrugged, but raised his glass to meet hers with a chink.

"Live hard, die young and leave a fucking beautiful corpse behind!" Haydée exclaimed merrily, so the whole room turned at them and who wasn't aware yet that Samael Hawke was drinking along with Haydée Morrell in the Kirkwall brothel, well, now they all knew.

Hawke chuckled briefly at her strange toast, but sipped his wine obediently, watching his lovely and mischievous companion. He couldn't see a slender hooded figure standing by the front door and staring at his relaxed pose on the sofa, a woman brushing a non-existent feather off his bare chest and a mabari dog who fell asleep in the meantime. But Haydée caught that intent mossy green gaze focused at them and she perfectly knew who was under that cloak and why.

"Maybe we could… continue in our pleasing conversation at some place without dozens eyes gaping at us." Haydée threw in a lax half-question, half-demand, and her eyes glancing at the front door again told her the Dalish girl was gone. Haydée was sure Samael would yield to her charms tonight.

Samael finished his fifth glass of wine, swiveling his head to face the temptress.

"Just one thing, Miss Morrell," he whispered to her, dangerously close to her full, slightly parted lips. "I only sleep with women who have attempted to kill me just once. If I recall correctly, I've had a pleasure of your hired jesters twice already – first at the Keep courtyard, then at the Hanged Man." Samael leaned even closer to her until his lips were almost brushing her ear and he could feel the warmth emanating from her body and her alluring perfume filled him.

"But —" Haydée breathed out, her hoarse voice trembling and colored with rabid lust.

"I bid you good night, Haydée," he whispered to her ear, making sure she was shuddering uncontrollably as he parted from her, searching her widened eyes.

"Charon…" Samael whispered, not taking his burning eyes off the panting woman. The sleeping mabari jumped up immediately, watching the master and awaiting commands. Samael gave his lady a sardonic, yet graceful bow and headed for the door, flipping a sovereign at the bartender.


	15. Chapter 15

The front door snapped shut behind Samael's back as he leaned on it, not really knowing why he went straight home from the Kirkwall brothel. Charon happily trotted into the open larder, sniffing for something to eat, and Bodahn emerged from the kitchen to greet his master. The dwarf halted though, scratching his head, when he spotted just the rogue with his mabari.

"Miss Merrill… hasn't come with you, Messere?" the dwarf asked, concerned, and looking around like he half-expected the elf would peer at him from a corner, giggling. Samael frowned at this question, but he forced himself to stay calm.

"What do you mean? She's not… here?" Samael stalked to the dwarf.

"She left a few minutes after you, saying over and over she needed to find you and talk to you, Messere. I told her not to leave the estate so upset, but she wouldn't listen to me," Bodahn sighed, glancing at the cracked open larder door and strange noises behind it.

"What about our Hero?" Samael rubbed his tired eyelids, feeling that odd sensation in his belly, like something bad could happen any minute.

"Messere Mahariel was smoking outside for a half an hour, then he came back for a cloak, claiming he wouldn't eat dinner and he went out for a walk." As always, Bodahn was perfectly informed about everything happening at the estate. "A disgusting habit, if you ask me, Messere Hawke," Bodahn crinkled his nose, regarding Fawn's addiction to smoking cigars.

"Fawn's out as well?" Samael inhaled sharply, feeling very much awake again.

"Yes, Messere," Bodahn nodded in agreement, watching the worried assassin. Samael just stood there, tormented if he should turn in alone or go out looking for her. Well, more like looking for them since he was convinced Fawn was without a doubt with Merril. But then Samael reminisced about her words and he realized his pride wouldn't let him go searching for her anyway. He was the hurt one here, damn it!

"Good night," Samael set his jaw and started to climb the stairs, leaning on the balustrade like an old man and whistling at his mabari. Charon scooted out of the larder, almost knocking the dwarf down and judging by his widened eyes and tongue lolling out of the maw as though he just couldn't believe that his master would allow him to sleep in the bedroom tonight. Once the door was open, the mabari sniffed the whole room only to jump on the bed, whirling around there to make a cozy lair.

Samael just glanced at the enthusiastic dog, shaking his head with a brief chuckle.

"I know I told you we're equal after our trip to the Gallows, mabari, but I certainly didn't allow you to sleep in my bed," he tried to shoo the dog off the bed, unsuccessfully. "All right, you mongrel," he gave up when he tried to push the heavy dog away, but the mabari just grinned at him, obviously amused by the efforts to remove him from the bed. Samael stripped down to his tight breeches, collapsing in the bed, feeling a bit drunk, a bit sad and a bit mad. He watched his ring; the ring stone was emanating urgent green flashes at him

"Where are you, huh…" he muttered to himself, tracing the ring with a finger, but then Samael just undonned the ring, setting it on the night table by his bed and turned his back at it. The last thought he had was about cursing the fidgety mabari for crushing his legs when Charon sprawled out on the bed, content as ever.

oOo

A sound of low growling from somewhere by the bedroom door woke up Hawke in the middle of night. He squinted around, seeing just the contours of furniture and live coals in the fireplace; he did realize he was alone in the bed though.

Charon poked the door with a paw, glancing at his now awakened master with a cocked head. Samael climbed out of the bed, sneaking around the room like a ghost for a moment. When he stood by his mabari, he had a long sinuous dagger in his hand and a leather strip with throwing knives across his bare chest. What could he say? He would rather be ready than sorry. When he pressed the ear on the door, he heard nothing at first, but then a distant gasping and moaning reached him, so he cracked the door open, peering outside. Something thudded, some swearing in elvish. Samael crept to the staircase, crouching and looking between the balustrade pillars down into the main hall. What he saw there made him rise to his full height again, staring down with his mouth hanging.

Haydée was leaning on the wall, a blood was gushing in thick pulses of her still beating heart out of her severed carotid artery. She was pressing one her hand on her throat, her eyes widened in horror, her lips gasping for air. In the light of several candles the blood looked almost black. Half-naked Merrill stood right beside her, gripping Haydée's other hand. The elf had her right hand coated in blood and her index finger was stuck in her mouth, like she tasted something really delicious, licking her fingers one by one. Samael couldn't miss the fact that Merrill had her eyes almost closed in pure bliss.

A dagger clanged at the stone staircase, interrupting Merrill's trance as she whirled around at that absurd sound. The lovers stared at each other for twenty seconds, breathless and waiting for the reaction of the other one. Samael was the first one who moved; he rushed down the stairs, jumped over a balustrade in the middle of staircase to get to Haydée in the fastest possible way.

"Samael! It's… not what it looks like!" Merrill tried to block his way, but he shoved her away, so she hit the stone wall, cried out in pain and collapsed down.

Haydée started sliding down along the wall now when Merrill wasn't supporting her, but Samael managed to catch her limp body before she could tumble down entirely. He pressed his palm at the wound, watching terrified as her blood was springing through his fingers immediately.

"Don't… don't you die on me! Do you hear me? Haydée!" he shouted at her, clenching her blood-stained clothing. "Heal her!" Samael looked up wildly at Merrill who was still cowering where he had thrown her. "I said heal her, damn it!" his eyes were flitting between the elf and Haydée.

"No," Merrill rasped, shaking her head in vehemence, watching as Samael's expression turned from fear and astonishment to pure hatred and frenzy.

"What the hell do you mean by that 'no'?" Samael howled like a wounded predator. Haydée's attempt to say something snatched his attention though.

"He… He's…" she rattled, her hand clasping his bare forearm. "Xe… Xenon… ask… Xenon…" she managed to whisper, but Samael was able to see her eyes started to veil and the blood stream was weakening. Haydée Morrell bled out within three heartbeats after she spoke her last words.

oOo

"I'm viciously fucked! No! I'm royally fucked! Maker, I'm screwed! Raen will have my head on a silver tray by the morning! FUCK!" Samael shoved Haydée's body away and crawled backwards from it desperately, leaving the blood smudge between them since he was soaked in her blood. His gaze was still locked with Haydée's wide open eyes, but the deep green light in them had died along with her.

It was Charon's soft whining which had woken him up and he jumped on his feet again. He marched to Merrill who was watching him with the expression counting with an inevitable end of her life. Samael yanked her up on her feeble feet only to cast her down with all his might right next to the dead Morrell.

"Look at her," he hissed, standing above her like a pagan god of revenge. "I said look at her!" he roared a second later when Merrill averted her eyes, trying hard not to admit to herself she was kneeling in a blood pool. When she let out a sob, clenching her eyelids together, Samael grasped her slender nape, pulling her down right next to the dead woman's face. He held her there until a silver tear fell down on Haydée's cheek.

"Look at me!" he swiveled her head roughly, squeezing her throat. "Why… did… you… kill her?" Samael asked slowly, panting, but making sure his every word cut right through her. No doubt he was standing at the edge of his self-control.

"I… I didn't kill her. I swear!" Merrill blurted out finally, sobbing, her eyes pleading with him.

"LIAR!" Samael shoved her away again, raking through his hair veil with bloody fingers.

"I'm not lying, Samael, please! I found her this way!" Merrill crawled back to him only to be kicked aside again. "I came home hours ago; Charon wouldn't let me sleep in the bedroom so I turned in a guest room. I woke up and—"

"And you happen to stumble over a dying woman and then you told yourself 'oh look, some free blood for a hungry blood mage!' Yeah, Merrill, whatever!" he threw his arms sideways, ripping the leather strip with knives off his chest and tossing it away. There was now a band of clean skin across his chest.

"NO! I really found her this way, you have to believe me!" Merrill was staring at him with her eyes wide open. "I couldn't resist the blood, you're right, but… but…" she collapsed again, the bitter tears streaming uncontrollably down her cheeks.

"What's going on here?" Fawn tottered out of his room with his eyes barely unstuck, yawning. Well, he was perfectly awake when his gaze slipped at the corpse lying in a vast blood pool, and at both Samael and Merrill who were covered with the drying blood as well.

"Let me guess, then…" Fawn sneered when the room stayed silent. "Hawke proposed a threesome and Merrill didn't like it." The elf guffawed, tilting his head up, not realizing all three living creatures in the main hall were staring at him at this misplaced joke.

"If you're done mocking, perhaps you could help me, Mahariel." Samael stalked slowly to the elf. Fawn was able to see that the assassin fought with himself to sound calm and steady, but he could see that behind this cracked mask Samael was wildly contemplating the whole situation, considering his possibilities what to do.

Samael was genuinely surprised when Fawn gave him a deep bow, whispering to his ear, "I'm at your disposal," when he straightened up again.

"Um, thank you," he murmured, amazed by this sudden change in the elf's behavior. He scratched his head then, realizing he needed to come up with some plan and he needed to come up with it quickly. "Find… Fenris." Samael pierced the elf through, watching him how he would feel about this order. Fawn simply nodded and danced out of the estate. Only now Samael realized Bodahn was peering at them from the kitchen, leaning on the column with his arms folded on chest and his mouth slightly open. Hawke just shook his head at him, like he couldn't make heads or tails of this mess as well.

Merrill's choked sobs were coming from a distant corner, but Samael didn't feel sorry for her. In his opinion, she just killed Haydée, drank her blood, and now she was about to convince him she was innocent here no doubt; innocent with the blood smudges around her mouth. He slowly walked to her, halted there, hesitant, clenching his fists until the knuckles cracked.

Only now he realized she was just in her sleeping panties, blood smeared all over her and huddled into herself. He wrapped her in an armchair shawl since she was shaking completely out of control and her nudity was distracting him.

"If you want to talk to me, this would be a perfect time," he growled after a moment, squatting down in front of her. Merrill uncovered her face at once, the words firing off her in dismay.

"I… I went after you Samael. That fight we had… I shouldn't have said that. I mean, I had no right to… But then I saw you with her—" Merrill tried to touch him, but Samael flinched.

"You what?" he interrupted her. "So you've been to the Blooming Rose?" he watched her face in suspicion.

"I saw you two together there," Merrill glared at her still-lover, her words bitter and hurt.

"Why didn't you come to me then?" he arched an eyebrow at her. "It wasn't like I had anything important to discuss with her." When Merrill stayed mute with her lips puckered, Samael realized she must have misunderstood the whole scene.

"Great," he sighed. "So you admit you went there, you misinterpreted what you saw there and you decided to murder the woman since Samael the bastard was sleeping with her no doubt," he finished his bitter speech.

"And did you…?" Merrill asked the only thing that was important for her.

"REALLY?" Samael grimaced at her. "I accused you of murdering an innocent woman and the most important thing you have in mind is if I shagged her? What the hell is wrong with you?" he shook her like only this way he could have back his old, awkward and lovely Merrill.

"NO! I didn't kill her, Samael! I wanted to…" Merrill's voice trailed off. "But I couldn't. Fawn found me, we strolled around the city for two hours, then we came back home." Merrill's eyes were beseeching him to trust her. But how could he? After what he had seen - Merrill drinking the blood from a living creature, saying those words to him before. But Haydée was dead. It was done. Now he was the one who had to deal with it before Raen would find out his sister was gone and most importantly where she had perished. But when he searched Merrill's eyes he found there nothing but fear, plea to trust her and disquiet. No lie or deception.

Sudden voices in the front room broke into the silence; Samael gave Merrill one last serious glance and stood up. What was his surprise when Fawn brought with him Aveline with Donnic at her heels and judging by some rough voices behind the front door, there were other Guardsmen outside. Before he could do anything, Aveline glanced around the room to figure out what had happened in there. The first coherent thought Samael had in his mind was that Fawn had betrayed him and called the Guards to arrest him for murder. When the amber eyes met with the shark eyes, Samael realized that Fawn knew exactly what was going on in his head, but the elf just sneered and strolled over to Merrill to calm her down a little.

"So, Hawke, what is it this time, huh…?" Aveline folded her arms on chest, her armor screeching. Donnic hid himself unintentionally behind his Captain's back, his moon-eyed face pale as he stared at the corpse and 6 quarts of fresh blood.

"Just… a tiny accident, Aveline, nothing more," Samael sighed, dodging her inquisitive glare.

"An accident… right." Aveline hissed at him, gesturing towards the black slash on the Haydée's throat.

"That's… lots of blood…" Donnic dared to peep his opinion.

"Look, Aveline. I asked Fawn to find Fenris, not you. I know very well you are the fabulous Captain of the Guard in the first place, then there's this huge place filled with scolding people around you and then there might be some little silly spot for your friends. So how about you scram and honor our friendship by not arresting me since I'm not the guilty one here." Samael lost his patience and his speech came out through his clenched teeth and with an ominous grin on his lips.

With unexpected swiftness Aveline closed the distance between them, clasping Samael's bare shoulders with her gloved hands.

"Listen to me, you brat. I didn't come here to arrest you, although I'm starting to regret it right now. Tell me honestly, did you or did you not kill Haydée Morrell, the Coterie leader?" she searched his face cautiously.

"Tell me, Aveline, how many times you've seen me killing anyone?" he asked her, feeling as old and haggard as ever. "Have I ever concealed even one corpse from you?" he continued and Aveline scowled at him, but she was clearly thinking about his words. "So why would I do that now?" he finished his questioning, reacting at her not-spoken answers, shaking her hands off him. They were glaring at each other and Aveline must have had her famous patronizing look on her face since Samael shrieked after a minute "I didn't kill her, all right? I swear on my father's grave!"

"Your father has no grave, Hawke," Aveline droned, glancing at the cooling corpse.

"An insignificant detail…" Samael rolled his eyes, watching as Aveline's gaze slipped toward Merrill who was still crouching in the corner, snuggled into the fabric and busy ignoring Fawn's soothing words. If Aveline figured out that Merrill might have something to do with the Haydée's death, she kept it to herself.

"I'll help Samael." Aveline spoke after a minute of uncomfortable silence, her words almost inaudible. "But you owe me big time, you ruffian!" Aveline brandished her gloved hand in front of Hawke's face. "And if I find out you lied to me, I'm done with you, understood?" Aveline's eyes pierced him through and Hawke puffed out in relief. "I'm serious, Samael, I'll hunt you down as any other swashbuckler in this damned city!" Aveline made sure she was perfectly clear with her statement and perfectly clear she was indeed.

"Thank you… _friend_," Samael whispered with his head hanging. Then he realized he was under the fire of gazes of everyone - Aveline, Donnic, Bodahn, Fawn, Merrill, Charon and even Haydée's empty eyes were set at him.

"All right!" Samael woke up from his lethargy and rubbed his palms. "Let me get dressed and we'll do something about… _her_." His hesitant gaze wandered at the dead woman again, then he bolted up the stairs, Charon haring behind him, thinking it was a game and there was a bone no doubt for the one who would be the first at the bedroom.

"Donnic, take the rest of my Guardsmen back to barracks and I want a report from you regarding that bar fight at the Swaying Boar inn we were dealing with when Mahariel appeared." Aveline had obviously calmed down since she gave this order to Donnic with a perfectly cold and steady voice. Donnic bowed, not taking his admiring eyes off his Captain, and left the mansion to fulfill his order. What was Aveline's surprise when he came back in a minute, leaning casually on the doorframe although he gulped loudly at the sight of the corpse.

"I meant you would go with them, Guardsman!" Aveline stalked to him, surprised when she glimpsed a wave of defiance running across Donnic's face.

"Serah Hawke can obviously use a friend here, Captain," he threw a comment, not daring looking at Aveline.

"Well, I'm certainly honored you consider me a friend, Donnic, but…" Samael's voice entered their dispute; he intended to send Donnic away, but then he glanced at Donnic's broad back and strong arms, realizing he could definitely use him tonight. He turned to the elves and Fawn stood up when he saw Samael's mute question.

"Fawn…" he addressed him nervously. "Please stay with her. Don't leave her alone," he asked him, glancing at the torpid elven girl. She had one of his throwing knives in her right hand, staring at it intently, oblivious to everything else around her.

Samael dropped to one knee by her, lifting her chin gently and waiting impatiently for her to look at him. "I want you to sit in my armchair in our bedroom and wait for me there," he instructed her rather sternly, his eyes following her hand when she hid the knife beneath the blanket. That was the only reaction he got from her, so he slowly stood up after a moment.

"Don't… leave… her… alone," he implored the elven warrior, squeezing his shoulder. Fawn's face darkened when he realized it was pure fear in the assassin's eyes.

"I can help, Samael," Fawn returned an intense gaze and his white hand covered Samael's. He thought at first the elf was about to sweep his hand off him, but he clasp it instead.

"You've already helped. Thank… you," Samael stammered, glancing at Merrill again. "Look after her, please." With these words Hawke turned around, realizing Donnic with Aveline had put Haydée into black duffel, brought by the thoroughly prepared dwarf. The three of them nodded at each other, Aveline and Donnic grabbed the duffel while Samael sheathed his daggers and fastened the leather strip with throwing knives across his chest again. He ordered his mabari to stay here and guard the estate with a brief move of his hand.

"Shall we…?" Samael chuckled mirthlessly, gesturing towards the front door with a king-like

bow.

oOo

Aveline shoved them with their burden into the nearest alcove, standing casually at the entrance, observing her glove. When the drunken couple stumbling home from some inn passed by, she hissed at them like the air was clear again, so they re-emerged from the darkness.

"Are we there yet?" Donnic asked, glancing around with a nervous tic.

"Actually… yes," Samael breathed out, nodding towards the graveyard gate made of solid iron. He carefully laid his side of the duffel down, fiddling with the lock briefly and Donnic mirrored him and dropped the bag as well. He got double scorching glares for this insensitive handling of the dead woman, but he felt like defending himself.

"What?" he peeped. "It's not like she could feel it, right?" he watched Captain's glum face and shut up. When the massive lock became loose, Aveline grabbed the bag instead of Samael, hissing impatiently at Donnic who was twiddling his thumbs above the corpse.

"I swear, I would never think of hiding a dead body at the graveyard, Serah Hawke," Donnic sniggered, panting under the weight of the Haydée's body.

"Yeah, fucking brilliant I am…" Samael snorted, staring around intently, trying to pierce the darkness and make sure nobody was following them. He scouted the surroundings, nodding at them to follow him when he found an empty dug up grave, waiting for a burial ceremony of some deceased person. Donnic squealed when he stepped on a shovel wallowing in the grass, but Samael silenced him, taking the shovel with him and grinning at Aveline.

"I swear, Hawke, I will cut your balls off for this," Aveline scowled at him, but stumbled behind him with a bag in her hands.

"Hey! I still have no idea how she showed up dead at my estate, Captain! I'm more like… a cleaner. Yes, think about me as a cleaner of this mess." Samael replied, raising a hand when his trained ears caught distant voices. Donnic with Aveline set the corpse down, panting and brushing their sweaty foreheads.

"Shit and double shit on my head," Samael whispered to himself when a light of several torches started approaching them. Because they were standing right above the empty grave, Aveline didn't wait for anything and jumped right in, crouching there like a cat and cursing her clanking armor.

"Whaaa…" Donnic opened his mouth, much slower in a thinking process than his Captain, so Samael simply pushed him into the hollow as well, kicked the bag onto Donnic's head, so it swatted him down, then Samael leapt down there himself, pressing onto the grave side, motionless.

As the voices were echoing louder and louder at the graveyard, Samael's heart started racing and he glanced desperately at his accomplices who were dragged into this mess because of him.

"Listen, Captain…" Donnic rasped, watching the light above his head growing brighter with a helpless expression.

"Shut up, Donnic!" Aveline whispered back, hitting him.

"No. I need to say this since we're about to die here or be hanged for a murder," Donnic insisted, his voice pouting, but oddly steady.

"What in the Maker's name, Donnic —" Aveline sizzled at him, but Donnic interrupted her.

"I love you, Captain. Whatever we're gonna face in a minute, I'll face it gladly, knowing I stand by your side and —" Donnic started vexing lyrical about his feelings for Aveline.

"I said… shut up!" Aveline stopped him mercilessly, putting a hand across Donnic's mouth. It's necessary to remark that Donnic's face lit up immediately and relaxed when she actually touched him.

"Yes, please, shut up…" Samael groaned to himself, feeling awkward about this emotional geyser although it was channeled to Aveline, but he was the one who had to listen to it. It came to him just at this very moment that he would probably get through this anyway, Donnic was just an ordinary Guardsman, unknown, so he wasn't in danger either, but Aveline – as a Guards Captain, she put her job and her stainless reputation at stake here, because Samael was stuck in this shitstorm and he was selfish enough to drag her right into it with him.

Their eyes met, but Samael saw no grudge or reproof in Aveline's eyes, there was just a kind sorrowful smile for her friend and a distant sadness about losing what she had treasured the most in her life after Wesley's death. A various memories about the moments he had shared with Aveline were whirling through Hawke's head, his mind frantically searching for a solution, but, Maker, he had so little time left, since the voices were so close they were able to hear clearly the spoken words.

"What did the note say, Messere Morrell?" an unfamiliar gravelly voice asked and Samael lost his last hope when he realized the question was aimed at Raen who was there as well from unknown reasons.

"My sister called me here in an urgent matter. Nothing more. I have to admit I'm very concerned since this isn't like her…" Raen's voice died away as he started musing about the peculiar note Haydée had sent him by his own words. "No, nothing like her. She is dealing with her problems strictly alone… my sister." Raen chuckled with uneasiness. Samael knew he was about to be found hidden in the grave, with the body of Raen's sister in a black bag, along with one Guardsman who was as brave as a guppy fish and Guards Captain who wouldn't have any explanation for being here. Well, not other than helping an infamous mercenary to hide a dead body here.

A second before the crescent of dancing light coming from the nearest torch revealed them, Samael did the only thing that occurred to him regarding saving Aveline at least, since he was – as he had said aptly – viciously fucked already.

Samael ripped the Guards helmet out of Donnic's hands since he was scrunching it in his palms for a minute along with chewing on his lower lip, and Hawke thrust the helmet onto Aveline's head with all his might and dexterity.

"What the hell…!" Aveline mumbled beneath the helmet, her voice sounded hollow and choked. At the same moment, the light chased away the shadows in the pit, revealing all four of them to a Raen's minion, who shouted in all four directions to announce his finding.

Samael just sighed in submission of the fact Raen was about to kill him.

"Hawke?" Morrell asked in disbelief when he halted at the edge of Samael's hollow. Samael couldn't resist and burst out laughing at this irony of standing in the middle of a dug up grave in front of Raen Morrell with his dead sister behind his back, hidden in the duffel. Hidden just for now, no doubt. "What… What are you doing here?" Raen demanded an explanation, his eyes narrowed in suspicion and confusion.

"Ah, just prowling around the graveyard, you know, haunting the strangers and sucking blood from innocent virgins," Samael attempted to sound just as pure as those virgins he had mentioned, but Raen wasn't a fool. He saw just fine those two trembling Guards by Hawke's side and a big black bag at the bottom of a pit. A sudden odd feeling in his belly disturbed him and it took him a while until he realized what was going on.

"What is… in that bag, Hawke?" he asked slowly, not taking his eyes from the bag.

"Nothing," Samael replied quickly; perhaps too quickly.

"I asked you what's in this bag, Hawke!" Raen lost his patience, grabbing the torch from his thug and jumping into the grave to see for himself.

"All right, Raen, I happen to… be in need of disposing a corpse. My minions dressed like the Guards are helping me, that's all." Samael managed to get a hold of himself again and he said this statement in a cold demeanor and with self-assured expression on his face.

But Raen was far beyond the point of buying any explanation Samael would offer to him and obviously he intended to look at the corpse no matter what Samael would say or do. He pulled out a knife, ready to slash the bag open, but Samael's hand caught his in the air, his eyes warning Morrell not to do that.

Raen opened his mouth, then set his jaw again, but somehow he knew. And when Samael took a good look at Raen's expressive face, he knew that his rival knew.

"It's… her, isn't it… She's in there." Raen breathed out, gaping at the bag beneath his feet.

Samael saw no point in proceeding with this ridiculous game, so he just nodded, but Raen didn't see it.

"Is it my sister in there, Hawke?" Raen asked again, his voice becoming desperate and mad.

"Yes. It's Haydée. She's dead, Raen. I'm… sorry." Samael stayed still, anticipating some reaction. He watched as Raen slowly ripped the bag apart, revealing Haydée's serene face. Raen staggered backwards when he realized Haydée's blood was all over her and a long deep slash was grinning at him from her throat.

"You… you… I'LL KILL YOU!" Raen threw himself at Hawke and Aveline was astounded when she realized Samael had no intentions to fight back. When the blade flashed in Raen's hand, ready to jab it into Samael's body, Aveline caught the armed hand with her own vice-like hands and pried the knife out of it without words. In the meantime Donnic unsheathed his sword, gazing above him at the shocked thugs peering at them.

Raen seemed to come back to his senses, glancing around wildly.

"I did not kill your sister." Samael said it slowly and explicitly like he was convinced if he said it slow and clear enough, Raen would believe him. "Look, Raen, we seriously need to talk. Somebody is playing us both and I'm afraid that —" Samael thought a little explanation was in order, but Raen silenced him with both raised arms.

"No, Hawke," he shook his head, scatterbrained. "No more foul words out of your filthy mouth," he spluttered at the silent Samael, pacing around the small rectangle hole. "Help me get her up," he looked up at Hawke after a minute with this most unexpected and cold order.

Samael shrugged and soon he was standing on the grass in a circle of Raen's men, with his 'Guards' by his side and Haydée lying in the open bag in front of them. Raen seemed to calm down at least a little as he kneeled by his sister's body, hypnotized by her pale face.

"She looks like she's just sleeping…" Raen muttered to himself, stroking Haydée's hair off her forehead. When he slowly rose and halted in front of the Hawke, their eyes clashed mercilessly and they were estimating each other for long minutes. Raen cocked his head after this wordless pause, raising his right hand hesitantly. Samael's head swiveled on right as a fierce slap landed on his cheek, but he remained calm and turned his head back to face his implacable rival again.

"I didn't kill her," Samael whispered. A second slap was an answer for his words. He turned his head slowly back again and Aveline stirred by his side, her hands groping for her sword. Samael stopped her with a brief glance telling her not to interfere.

"I will kill you for this, Hawke." Raen was nodding to underline his intentions, his insane eyes popping out of his head. "I'll set a day and an hour when your life will be ended. Don't you worry; you'll recognize it when it comes. In the meantime, I'll try to sweeten your waiting for the inevitable end," Raen sneered at him, waving at his men to lift his sister. They left the graveyard immediately, leaving the three of them alone.

Samael wasn't able to control himself anymore and he collapsed into the crushed grass, clenching his hair in pure despair. Donnic caught Aveline's mute order and stepped a few steps away, searching the night sky and leaning on the shovel he kept dragging with himself.

Captain sat down in the grass right next to Hawke cautiously, silent, realizing he had saved her a few minutes ago. She took off the helmet finally, tossing it far away and her arm slipped rather clumsily around her companion. Of course she knew Samael was the one dragging her into this mess in the first place, but now it didn't matter. Finally she had confirmed Samael was deep in his heart still human being, still able to get attached to somebody and feel responsible for his own deeds and decisions. He went through Raen's insults and threats with his head raised, knowing he was innocent here, yet he suffered Raen's rampage without needless words, since Raen wouldn't let him speak to defend himself anyway. He even felt sorry for Raen's loss, knowing exactly how he felt since Samael himself lost his family members one by one. At that very moment Samael grew up finally in Aveline's eyes and she knew there was a person sitting right beside her she could call a _friend_.


	16. Chapter 16

Samael couldn't remember how he got home from the graveyard, but he found himself sitting in the armchair by the fireplace in the main hall of his estate, a snifter full of golden whiskey in his shaking hands and Bodahn fussing around him. For the first time Samael welcomed dwarf's excessive care and devotion.

Bodahn didn't want to disturb his silent master, well, not much at least, but since Samael had stayed motionless for a half an hour, staring into the fireplace with empty eyes, Bodahn dared approach him and patted his shoulder gently. It was like Bodahn had broken a spell, since Samael twitched, gazing at the dwarf in surprise as though it was only now that he realized where he was and why. The old dwarf waited patiently for his master to speak first and when he thought he wouldn't live long enough to see him saying if only one word, Hawke broke the silence finally.

"Bodahn… sit," he gestured towards the other armchair, gulping down the snifter he found himself holding in the palms. The dwarf arched an eyebrow since he wasn't used to be invited to lounge with the landlord by the fire, but – as always – he followed the order without questions.

"You might have already picked up that things didn't go well with Miss Morrell's death," Samael sneered, watching his loosely intertwined hands. "I was caught right with her body by her own brother and as you can imagine, he didn't take it well." Samael looked up at the dwarf only to cast his eyes down again. "From now on I'm marked by the Coterie leader himself with a sign of death and I'm pretty sure he plans on making me suffer a great deal before he kills me." Samael realized his voice sounded business-like, even when he talked about his own death, but Bodahn's eyes were twice their usual size and he was mindlessly pressing his clenched fists onto his chest. But Samael wasn't done, oh no.

"Apparently, you want to leave, Bodahn. And I understand. It's necessary." Samael set finally his tired eyes at the mute dwarf, estimating the impact his words had on his faithful and valuable servant. "You need to leave and you need to do it right now. I want you to grab Sandal, pack small bag, and get out of here. I'll cover your traveling expenses plus enough gold for you to settle down somewhere safe. I can't guarantee peace and safety in this mansion anymore for I'm not sure what would Raen come up with. So…" Samael's throat constricted and he tried to cover it up with brief cough, studying his hands again. "I was honored to have you here and surely—"

"The dinner was roasted seasoned goose on garlic with Orlesian potatoes and fruit flambéed with brandy as a delicious desert, Messere," Bodahn interrupted rudely his master, looking straight into his eyes with defiance Samael hadn't experienced from the always obedient dwarf before.

"Hum, sounds lovely. Did you hear what I've just said, Bodahn?" Samael asked, annoyed, and not completely sure what this was about.

"Shall I warm you up a portion, Messere?" Bodahn asked in a perfectly polite tone, oblivious to Samael's objection.

"You can't stay here! All right? Get your shit and get out!" Samael lost his patience and set the empty snifter he had been playing with in his hands at the table edge. It balanced there for a few seconds, then smashed against the flagstone into pieces.

"Perhaps a nice hot bath will do, I guess. You're awfully tensed, Messere." Bodahn stood up abruptly, dismissing the thought of leaving the estate without hesitation. But Hawke jumped up as well and for a second Bodahn thought Samael would grab him by the neckline and shake this brave decision to stay here out of him, but Samael set his hands gently on the dwarf's shoulders instead, bending down a bit so he would look right into the half-tall Bodahn's face.

After a minute Samael whispered almost inaudibly, "Thank you." When he carefully searched Bodahn's face, he found nothing there but kind understanding for his words, but also an obstinate determination to stay no matter what. Since Hawke had no idea how he could express that storm of feelings that was raging inside of him right now, he just popped out those two choked words, but the dwarf seemed to understand since he gave him a warm smile, fidgeting and went skittering to prepare a bath and meal.

Samael strolled to the cabinet, pouring himself another drink into yet another snifter. Before he could sort his whirling thoughts into some order, Bodahn was pushing him into the bathroom, helping him take off his armor. The meticulous dwarf interrupted the comfortable silence just once when he snorted - the armor was encrusted with dirt and blood and if Bodahn hated something, it was definitely dirty, muddy and invincible _dirt_. When was Samael stripped just to his tight breeches stained with Haydée's blood, Bodahn bowed and left the bathroom, gesturing towards the silver tray with steaming meal, clean clothing and a bathtub filled with hot water and foam emanating the keen odour of lavender and sage.

Samael strolled to a misted mirror in the corner, staring at his blurred silhouette. After a moment his hand shot out, smearing the droplets of water on the mirror, then the hand dropped down again. He watched his face in the mirror for long time, contemplating Raen's words of contempt and vengeance. They were burning his very core and he wished he would be scared of Raen's revenge, but… nothing. Only echoing emptiness inside of him along with total indifference about what would happen next. When he wasn't able to bear looking at himself anymore, he slipped out of the breeches and sank into the soothing hot water and fragrant foam, leaving nothing but nose above the surface. This way he could pretend there were no bitter tears mingling with the water.

oOo

When Samael re-emerged from the steamed bathroom, Bodahn seemed pleased and calm and nobody would guess the Coterie sword of vengeance was hanging above the Hawke estate. Samael realized the dwarf was waiting for orders regarding the situation, but Bodahn had already gotten started and bragged about locking every door and shutter he could find in the estate. When he had finished, he read aloud a short note Aveline had sent five minutes ago, telling them the three Guardsmen in disguise were ordered to patrol around the estate until Aveline could come over tomorrow to talk about the whole situation with Samael.

Hawke just nodded at the dwarf since he really had nothing more to say and it was only now when he realized Fawn was supposed to stay with Merrill in the bedroom. Obviously, they were both still there since he hadn't seen either of them yet. He felt like sleeping for two damned days, but he couldn't omit Merrill's part in Haydée's death, so he started climbing the stairs, arguing with himself to enter the bedroom to talk to the elves. It was a struggle no to hide himself somewhere and stick his head beneath the pillow, hoping his problems would be gone by the morning.

He almost knocked on the bedroom door, then realized how pathetic that would be since it was his door. He also realized he was miserable; sad, angry and really not in the mood for Fawn's prickly comments or Merrill's evasive answers. When he entered the room, Fawn gazed up at him from the book he was reading by the crackling fireplace, his black eyes gliding along Hawke's body like he was anticipating Samael would return covered in blood. Or maybe he didn't expect Samael to return at all? Who the hell could tell since Fawn's face remained as always impenetrable with that light teasing sneer on his thin lips.

The second glance Samael granted to his favorite myrtle-green armchair in the corner, buried by the nest of blankets and pillows. He noticed there was a small silent bulge beneath them. When Samael stalked closer to the elven warrior he noticed the ripped sleeve of his delicate silver tunic and fresh slash on his skin, making Samael recall that throwing knife Merrill took from him.

"You're… hurt?" Hawke half-asked, half- stated, peering askance at the proud elf.

"You know, you could have told me Merrill had a knife on her," Fawn replied, unconcerned and even mildly smiling. Samael wondered for a second if Merrill could have possibly done anything to actually infuriate Mahariel, since this wasn't obviously enough. That bloody elf looked even amused!

"Sorry for that," Samael sneered, "I had other things in mind. You know, like wondering who the fuck left a dying woman on my doorstep, why was Merrill—" he realized he was about to say something he didn't intend to share with anyone.

"Why was Merrill what…?" Fawn's eyes narrowed.

"Why was she looking for me at the brothel," Samael finished his lie, glancing around the room since he found himself unable to bear Fawn's scrutiny. If the elf had picked up on Samael's uneasiness he didn't show it.

"Tell me, Hawke, did you order her to do anything before you left?" Fawn pierced Samael again with his inquisitive glare, sounding upset suddenly.

"Order?" Samael arched an eyebrow. "I just told her to wait for me in the bedroom and I might have mentioned my armchair," Samael reminisced about his exact words with difficulty. "Why?" he asked since the elf remained silent.

"The maid-servant bathed her and when she came here, she insisted on sitting in that ridiculous armchair, not talking to me whatsoever. When I wanted to settle her in the bed, she struggled like her life depended on sitting right there on that damned spot. And when I tried to simply carry her to bed, she pulled out the blade and attacked me." Fawn finished his narration, watching Hawke like he blamed him for Merrill's odd behavior. Samael just rubbed his eyelids, forcing himself to think and reply something. He felt like choking in the bedroom, so he gestured towards the balcony like he wished to talk with Fawn there and he stepped outside. The elf made sure Samael saw how he rolled his eyes, letting him know how tiring and boring this all was for him, but then he closed the book, set it carefully on a table and strolled after Hawke on the balcony.

Samael leaned on the balustrade, looking out over the sleeping city and inhaling deeply of a night chill mixed with intoxicating scent of crimson roses growing in the garden. They were from Fereldan and suddenly Samael wasn't sure if he loved them or hated them since with every breath he took they reminded him of his homeland.

"So what happened?" Fawn leaned on a balustrade as well, lighting up a fat Antivan cigar.

"I'm screwed… that happened," Samael laughed mirthlessly and jumped on the balustrade to sit there, his legs dangling in the air. Fawn watched his doing with poorly hidden disquiet; it was like he expected Hawke to jump down. "Raen has his sister's body now. He found me at the place I intended to hide her, he promised a terrible revenge, blahblah… such a drama." Samael was astonished that even now he was able to crack jokes and Fawn granted him an amused grin for that. "I'm not sure how he was able to find me, damn it!" Samael continued thinking about it, not aware he was saying his thoughts out loud. "He said Haydée sent him a message to meet her there! But when? How? She was dead for an hour! Yet she led him there at that exact time when I was there! I don't get it…" Samael shook his head, rubbing his temples.

"What do you intend to do?" Fawn blew the odoriferous smoke into the sky. "Shall I kill him for you?" he asked casually, leaving Hawke pretty much awestricken after this simple question.

"Well, thank you for this offer, but no." Samael scratched his head. "I guess I'm going to lay low for a while, not giving him a chance to mess with those around me, and I'm sure he'll get impatient and bored in no time. He will challenge me, probably in front of whole damned Kirkwall and I will face him and kill him. Simple as that." Samael shrugged, scratching his calf on the balustrade.

"Shouldn't I take Merrill out of the city for a while?" Fawn asked, again casually, but he watched Hawke's reaction cautiously this time. Samael scowled at the rose bush beneath him, but then he had to admit, Fawn had a point here.

"I won't stop her if she wants to leave this estate. Leave… me," his voice trailed off, but then Samael coughed, realizing he had to get a hold of himself again. "Tell me, Fawn, since you're a brilliant scheming bastard yourself…" Samael averted the elf's attention, grinning at him. "If you happen to know who just tried to kill you and you knew you were going to be dead within seconds, what would you say to a person witnessing your murder?" Samael rubbed his chin, watching the horizon growing pale.

"Well, this can't happen to me," Fawn straightened up, jabbing his eyes into Hawke. Samael just rolled his eyes, snorting like 'thank you so much for help'. "But if I were a pitiful dying human, I would try to reveal the name of my murderer of course." Fawn's voice was thoughtful and oddly distant.

"Then I guess I have to pay a visit to Xenon," Samael nodded when Fawn confirmed what was he thinking anyway. Fawn shrugged, then bowed a bit mockingly, like he would go with him if it was Samael's wish indeed. Samael glanced into the sky where the stars were fading as the sun was about to peer at them over the roofs of Hightown.

They both knew they should move, do something, not just stand there on a balcony like two statues, but at that moment they both felt comfortable in that silence that followed and peace around them, however it was just peace right before the battle. Fawn broke the silence finally, staring up into the sky. "Did you know that at this time of year, you can see strange rings around a few stars?" the elf almost whispered.

"Well, if you've had enough to drink, you can see them indeed," Samael sneered and they both guffawed like mad men. Samael swayed on the balustrade, both in laughter and because of the gust of salty breeze, so Fawn snaked his arms around the assassin's chest and pulled him down on his feet, muttering "We don't want you to get flattened if you happen to tumble off the balcony, do we? Morrell would be so disappointed," he added, making them burst in laughter again.

"Thank you for watching over Merrill, Fawn," Hawke finally managed to give shape to his thoughts, when Fawn let go of him, rather reluctantly. "Leave us now, please" he glanced into the bedroom, leaving no space for objection.

"I don't think you should sleep here tonight, Hawke," Fawn replied, his face turning into the wax mask again. "I think—" Fawn continued, but Samael simply had no patience left to remain reasonable here.

"So where do you propose I should sleep, huh?" he interrupted Fawn, glancing at him seductively. Once again he was surprised where that strength to talk, joke, smile, and even flirt, came from. Samael couldn't believe his eyes when Fawn actually blushed, gave him a mild bow like this conversation was over and strolled out of the balcony and then the bedroom as well, glancing at the bulge that was Merrill once more.

Samael closed his eyes when the first beam of sunlight reached his face, then he stepped into the bedroom as well, pushing the curtains together to keep the sun outside. Once they were alone, Samael had to fight the urge to simply keel over in the bed and sleep it all off. The bulge stirred and Samael noticed one eye peering at him through a tiny slit between the blankets. He started walking towards the armchair, considering every step he took, realizing he had no desire to talk again about Haydée or about what had happened at the graveyard.

"Give me the knife," he said with an imperious undertone, when he halted by the armchair. Actually he intended to learn if she was willing to talk to him or interact with him. His throwing knife magically appeared in his hand and the greenish eye disappeared beneath the blankets again.

"To the bed. Now!" he continued in the terse orders. What was his surprise when the whole bundle of blankets lifted up immediately and started wobbling towards the bed. Samael couldn't resist and – sneering – he stomped casually on the blanket hem and Merrill's cover slumped down on the carpet after a moment, accompanied with her surprised squeak. She whirled around, her eyes rabid, as she started staggering backwards from Samael who was creeping closer and closer to her. Once they were both settled on the bed, Samael was finally able to take a good look at his elf. She looked just as exhausted as he was, but she was watching him with open fear and disquiet, like he would explode any second and finish what he had started above Haydée's corpse.

Despite her lovely face and rather amusing blanket stunt Samael knew exactly how he felt about Merrill and he intended to make it clear for her, when he inhaled deeply, preparing for an unpleasant conversation.

"Look, Merrill…" he started, scratching his head. "I know we're both tired and upset, but I have a few questions." Merrill simply nodded at him like she would answer them. Samael said shortly what had happened at the graveyard, his voice was perfectly colorless. Then he made sure he had her full attention before he shifted closer to her, catching her eyes. "I'm tired," he said it slowly and vigorously. "Maker, I'm fucking tired of this weirdness that is enveloping us lately," he added, not taking his blazing eyes off her face. Merrill let her head hanging, shrinking to herself, but Samael continued. "I'm done dancing on the tiptoes around you. And I'm done guessing what are you thinking about or why do you do this or that. I want you to… I need you to answer me right now and if you can't give me honest answers, you're no longer welcomed here," he finished his speech, realizing he was losing control. Merrill simply stared at him, opening her mouth several times, but no sound came out of it.

"Are you…" Merrill gulped loudly, her eyes filling with the tears. "Are you kicking me out?" she whispered in horror. Samael just rubbed the temples, asking himself what was unclear about his statement 'tell the truth or get out'.

"Did you kill her, Merrill?" he asked her abruptly, fire burning in his eyes.

"No." Merrill insisted on her version. "Please, let me explain," she asked him with submission in her voice. She realized her future with Hawke was at risk and everything now depended on her words and behavior. Samael just waved his hand like he was listening to her and her words should better be worth his attention.

"When I woke up in the middle of night I heard some strange noises. I knew Charon was upstairs and I was scared," the words were firing out of Merrill. "I peered behind the door and she was simply standing behind it, clenching her neck and staring at me. She… she just stood there, trying to call for help, reaching to me!" Merrill shrieked, lost in the gruesome memory. "I caught her and tried to get her to sit so I could take a look at her injury, but she pushed me… away… like I was… something inferior." Merrill looked up at her lover, a tear rolling down her cheek. She swept it away impatiently. "Despite her wound she pushed me away like I was the one who has done that to her, sizzling insults at me…" her voice trailed off.

"Then what?" Samael asked mercilessly, not giving her a minute to calm down.

"Then… I smelled it…" Merrill breathed out, her eyes bright and wide. Samael stared at her in rapture, knowing exactly what she spoke of, but resisting believing it. "My fingers were coated with the blood as I touched her. I… couldn't resist. I didn't want to. I tasted it." Merrill glanced at him in despair.

"So you are addicted to it… or something?" Samael inhaled sharply, not really wanting to know the answer, but he felt oddly calm right now.

"No," Merrill shook her head in vehemence. "I simply tasted it because she insulted me and rejected my help," she set her eyes at him and Samael found there the same pride of the elvhenan people which was in Fawn's eyes constantly. Samael contemplated her words for a few minutes, then he continued his questioning.

"The brothel," he said shortly, demanding her explanation.

"I wanted to find you there," Merrill started fidgeting; reminiscing about the fight they had before. "I shouldn't have told you… that. It was not my place to question your decisions, Samael," she searched his eyes, trying to assess how he felt about her confession. "Then I saw you… with her." Merrill hissed, her eyes flashing red lightning.

"So let me get this straight. You've been to Blooming Rose, you saw me there, but left without talking to me. I believe that's the time when our mighty Hero appeared, huh…" Samael droned, clenching his fists.

"Yes. Fawn found me; we walked around the city for a while. You already know the rest… ma vhenan." Merrill dared addressing him with this loving expression. Samael considered her words, his tired mind desperately searching for some logic explanation.

"About the blood…" he started again, frowning. Merrill sighed in reply. "Are you going to… continue?" he shuddered involuntarily, but he needed to know.

"You know the answer, Samael," she pierced him through with her eyes. "I will. I want to be strong enough to take care of myself and those I love." She said it with such a vigour Samael wondered for a minute where was that awkward and fidgety girl he had brought from the Sundermount years ago. But Merrill wasn't done by a long shot. "Have you looked recently at our lives, ma vhenan? All the time… just struggling for survival. All the time… problems we need to deal with. When we go out together, everybody is staring at us – at me with disdain because I'm an elf, at you with curiosity or even condemnation of living with an elf and an apostate. Do you think that's easy for me?" she asked him desperately. "Do you think I like what light I've cast on you when I agreed to move in with you? And it's even worse when everybody see you dragging the apostates one by one into the Gallows, although you have one living right at your estate! But I am under your protection, right?" she laughed and it sounded desperate and slightly mad like this thought was eating her alive. "No Templar can touch me, right?" she shouted now, throwing her arms in the air. "That's why I called you a hypocrite and the whole Kirkwall with me," she rounded up her explanation with this surprising, yet understandable critique.

"Oh, let the bells ring, a great revelation for everyone, Samael Hawke is a hypocrite and selfish bastard!" Samael couldn't bear her honesty anymore as he yelled back at her. But he was the one who asked her to be honest in the first place and he knew that. Merrill his her face in the palms, crying silently, her strength she had mustered for this conversation dissipated at once.

"All right," Samael whispered finally after a long silence, watching the elf. "You can have mine," he added after a moment with his eyes wandering around the room.

Merrill uncovered her face, her eyes widened at that simple statement like she couldn't believe what he just had said. "Do you want it now?" Samael asked her casually, although his every sense screamed at him what the hell he was doing.

"W-what are you talking about?" she breathed out, squeezing his forearm. A mild nod was his reaction, but he saw she was amazed by his willingness. They both knew he was talking about Merrill's blood issue.

"I told you, Merrill. You are either at my side or not. There's no grey ground, nothing in the middle. It's your choice where do you want to stand," he rounded his explanation. Her expression made his fingers to trace her jawbone and he watched as she leaned into his palm, closing her eyes, and her tense face relaxed.

"I meant it," he said after a moment, more like to himself than her. "I will give you everything I can, as long as you want it and you're honest with me." Merrill's eyes shot open and Samael knew immediately there was something else on her mind, but he didn't say a thing. He watched her squirming on the bed for a moment, afraid of what she was about to tell him. When it was obvious she had no idea how to say such thing, she just blurted it out.

"Fawn kissed me," she whispered, ashamed and insecure. When Samael stayed silent, she started explaining. "I mean, I didn't want to, I swear! It just happened! He suddenly leaned to me and… I pushed him away and headed home. I knew I have to tell you, because he might bring that up to… hurt you." Merrill stared at her hands clenching the sheets, not daring looking at her lover.

Samael stayed oddly calm again, feeling like nothing could surprise him tonight. Nothing at all. Merrill was desperate though, when no reaction came from him. "Elgar'Nan, say something, please!" she shook him finally, trying to get a hold of herself.

"Hum, let me see. I mean, what the hell do you want from me?" he snapped at her. "You either want to be with him or with me. Or with somebody else, that is," he chuckled mirthlessly. "Just let me know, which one do you want and then I decide if I still want you, witch," he sneered at her, not believing he was cracking misplaced jokes about this serious matter. Her answer was quite clear since suddenly he had full arms of Merrill as she pressed kisses on his skin; everywhere she could reach. When she let him breathe again, Samael realized one question remained. Not that he would be eager to do that, but he grasped the throwing knife, thinking about where he should cut himself. His face twisted into surprised grin when Merrill caught his hand, shaking her head.

"Not now, ma vhenan," she whispered into his ear.

"So… when?" Samael set the knife on a night table, genuinely confused by this twist.

"Later?" Merrill shrugged, covering them with blankets. "Let's just sleep now," she suggested with that practical attitude of hers.

"Sounds good enough for me," Samael sighed contently, realizing again how exhausted he was. The last thought that flew through his head was about cutting off one certain body part of one importunate elf, who was foolish enough to not follow his order about keeping his smarmy hands off his woman.

"Samael?" Merrill murmured into his ear.

"Yes?" he replied, half-asleep.

"I am scared," Merrill breathed out.

"If you won't shut up and let me sleep, you'll be scared and dead," Samael pulled her even closer to him.

"Are you going to leave me?" she asked as though that were the only thing that bothered her and kept her from sleeping.

"I'm going to—" Samael had actually no idea what was he going to do about this whole situation, about Merrill, her blood-thirstiness, how to protect his friends and his position in Kirkwall. It seemed the whole situation was everything but simple and easy. But then it came to him – he was going to do for Merrill exactly the same thing that she had done for him countless times.

"I'm going to save you," Samael answered her question finally, closing the eyes again. He knew it wouldn't be easy indeed, but it was that simple.


	17. Chapter 17

"The Arlathan elves were all blood mages. Do you know what a blood mage is? Probably yes, since you live with one. We all heard the story of how the Tevinter Imperium managed to usurp heaven and all that but I know that they weren't the first to cross the Veil into the Fade, oh no. Do you want to hear more? Of course you do! Blood magic uses life force to power magic, but you already know that. The Arlathan elves were immortal. Can you imagine that? Who has more life force then an immortal? It was also stated that all Elvhenan people had the gift of magic once. It's not like in these days when the only few of us are still pure elves, such as myself or Merrill. The rest of them are inferior, blind creatures, condemned to serve humans. Now here's an important question - what if the reason for this was not an innate connection to the Fade but use of blood magic? Would that mean—"

"Maker, Fawn, you're full of shit. Stop telling him these stories. In case you haven't noticed, he's a war hound and not a lapdog, damn it," Samael droned when passing by them, sheathing his katana, and the elf and Charon both frowned at him for this impudent interruption. Fawn was lounging on a fur by the crackling fireplace with his legs crossed; Charon was sitting right in front of him, listening intently to the elf's narration. Samael woke up around midday, knowing he had plenty of work to do today although those several hours of rest weren't obviously enough after the last eventful night.

"It wouldn't hurt you to listen and learn something from me for once, shem!" Fawn gave him a wry grin, standing up slowly. Merrill scuttled down the stairs to them with an impatient smile, but her face froze when her gaze landed on her fellow elf. Fawn had no idea Merrill had told her lover about that stolen kiss, Samael hadn't given him any sign he knew about it, so Fawn assumed the kiss would remain just between him and Merrill. If he had thought twice about it or took a very good look at Samael, he would have seen a snake. A snake right before its vicious, well-aimed and lethal attack.

"Tell me once more what you're supposed to do, my little pariah," Samael approached Merrill, checking if her staff was properly placed in its back sheath. Merrill placed a lazy peck on his cheek before answering his question and she made sure Fawn would see the brief tender gesture channeled to Hawke.

"I'm going to pick up Varric in Ichabod's house in Lowtown. Once together we are going to get Anders, then we'll meet you and Fawn at the Black Emporium." Merrill happily declaimed her orders, not taking her eyes from Samael.

"And?" Samael got impatient when she skipped one part. Merrill just sighed.

"I'm not supposed to frolic through the city alone without protection or talk to strangers," she peeped, fidgeting under Samael's scrutiny.

"That's right." Samael scanned her face once more before turning to the dwarf. "Bodahn, don't open the door unless you know who's behind it. Remember that Fenris, Isabela and Aveline are supposed to meet me here in the evening, so settle them in the main hall and take care of them. I leave Charon here for your protection and—" Samael was interrupted when Sandal rushed to him from the kitchen, tripping over his own feet and landing right in front of Hawke who just rolled his eyes and pulled the young dwarf up on his feet again. To his astonishment Sandal gave him his usual broad, a bit creepy smile, reaching his clenched fist up to him. Samael gaze was flicking between the Sandal's beaming face and his fist; he wondered what was Sandal up to this time. The little dwarf opened his palm; looking into it himself like he couldn't remember what was inside of it, before he set his eyes back at Hawke.

"Boom!" Sandal said merrily, like this one word explained everything. Samael took from him a little black uneven pebble with a single elaborate silver rune on it, turning it in front of his eyes with curiosity.

"Am I supposed to keep it?" he asked finally, giving Sandal an insecure smile.

"Boom!" the dwarf nodded, clapping his palms.

"All right," Samael gave him a bit sardonic deep bow. "Thank you," he hid the pebble deep into his pocket on the jerkin, glancing at Bodahn who just shrugged like this was completely normal for his son. "Shall we?" Samael turned to Fawn who had finished dressing and checking on his splendid sword swaying by his left hip and catching the dancing flames coming from the fireplace.

"Ma vhenan," Merrill caught her lover's arm once they had left the estate and stood in the full sun. "Just be careful," she almost whispered to him, touching his chest briefly.

"You worry too much, my little pariah," Samael gave her a tender smile, meant just for her eyes. "What could possibly go wrong—" Hawke's amber eyes wandered towards the silent arcane warrior, who stood a few steps away from them, letting them know how grossed out he was about this delay, "—when I have our mighty Hero of Fereldan with me," Samael finished his speech, casting his eyes back at Merrill. Oh, she had noticed his sinister grin well, however brief it was, but she didn't dare ask what were Samael's intentions regarding Fawn.

"Why don't we all go together?" Merrill sighed, embedding herself in Samael's chest.

"I told you," Samael lowered his voice. "I'm not comfortable around Ichabod Bane and I don't want to see him any time soon," he added, spluttering the name of that peculiar person with venom. "And since Varric is living at his mansion right now…" Samael shrugged. He was able to see Merrill's uneasiness and tried to fix it with a long passionate kiss, perfectly ignoring the whispering around him and outraged glances from the nobles who were passing by them. Merrill let out a rather disgruntled moan when he broke the kiss, chuckling about her pouty face. Then he noticed the same feral lust in her eyes she had after they had woken up an hour ago, and his smile faded. He wouldn't admit it of course, but he bolted out of the bed like his ass was on fire, afraid she would want his blood, and covered his anxiety with a short speech about need to visit Xenon, then an important discussion with their friends about their safety in the evening, and even after that Hawke wouldn't be free, since he had a meeting with the Arishok at the docks.

"No frolicking, witch," he reminded her before he turned around and trod away. Fawn gave Merrill a thoughtful glance, stomped on a half-smoked cigar and danced away to keep up with Hawke.

oOo

"By the Forgotten Ones! What reeks!" Fawn crinkled his aquiline nose, trying to pierce the shadows inside of the Black Emporium.

"Let me guess," Samael sneered and drew aside a cobweb. "Xenon has run out of his ointment and decomposed for good." Hawke crossed cautiously the bridge leading to the shop, his hand clasping loosely the katana hilt. He stopped abruptly when he saw a headless skinny body lying across his path. Judging by the bluish skin, swarm of flies and a stench, the corpse was lying here for a while.

"Thaddeus…" Samael whispered when he recognized the tacky doublet Xenon forced the lad to wear in the shop.

"Hawke, you should see this," Fawn waved a hand impatiently at him, covering his sensitive nose with a linen handkerchief. Samael strolled to him after a moment, still watching Thaddeus with sad eyes, so he almost stomped into something what could have been Qunari torso. Now it was crawling with bugs and worms, but the pale skin with red paint left no doubt about whom it was once. Samael reminisced immediately about the heads sent to the Arishok right after the disappearance of his karataam, and also about the legs and arms hung on the chain by the Qunari compound.

"I guess the Arishok has his precious karataam back finally, however in pieces," Samael chuckled, but there was no smile on his sombre face.

"I strongly suggest you would use other words when describing him what we found here," Fawn dropped the hand with a handkerchief, shaking his head and glancing around the darkened shop in disquiet. Suddenly he froze and clutched Samael's forearm briefly. Hawke noticed immediately something was awfully wrong here the moment they had entered the Emporium, something even more ominous than the stench and corpses, but he still wasn't able to identify that cold feeling which was chilling his guts. Now he had confirmed even Fawn felt it too, whatever it was.

"What is it, Fawn?" he whispered to the elf, staying in the same position. Only his eyes were frantically roaming around him.

"I'm not sure. But we are being watched," Fawn breathed out, positioning himself so that he and Hawke were now back-to-back, so nothing could surprise them or attack them from behind. It was like the lurking enemy wanted to confirm their suspicion and a low menacing growl echoed in the Emporium.

"This… can't be good," Hawke unsheathed the katana and he felt immediately better when there was a long sharp blade between him and whatever was about to lunge at them from the darkness. "Not good at all," he sizzled and poked Fawn's back with an elbow, when a huge silhouette of a golem materialized from the shadows.

"I can't believe my eyes…" Fawn opened his mouth in disbelief. "It's a—" he didn't finish the sentence since the gruesome memories of golems devoured him entirely.

"—a golem, oh yes," Samael finished the sentence for him, grimacing at the stone giant. "Xenon's freaking golem. His name is Bombastus Gigantus Crumbum the Third or Fourth, I don't know," he added, wildly contemplating how to get rid of it.

"Is it going to help us to tame him?" the elf asked, watching the approaching golem.

"I doubt it," Samael replied.

"Very helpful as always," Fawn sneered at Hawke. "Here I hoped I wouldn't encounter more of these obtuse creatures, since I've already had my fun with them in the Deep Roads," Fawn remarked with a sour expression. The next thing Samael had realized was that the elf was no longer by his side and a second later the golem's fist swished in the fusty air, making Hawke duck into a somersault and causing him to almost decapitated himself with the katana.

"Mahariel, get your pointy ass here or I swear I'll have your rotten heart for dinner tonight!" Samael shouted, not even knowing if the elf was still in the Emporium.

"And what would you have me do, hm?" a mocking voice somewhere from above replied in nonchalance. "I had my sword sharpened yesterday. I don't want to make it blunt again because of nudging it into a huge pile of stone!" the same voice, only sulking now, yelled back at Hawke.

"I said get your fucking, sleazy, scheming—" the golem almost knocked the katana out of Samael's hand and he reconsidered his spiteful tone at once. "Come on, Fawn, he's so big!" Hawke panted, avoiding yet another powerful blow of the golem's fist.

"If you're done whining, perhaps you should let me finish the sleeping spell, you squishy human!" Fawn hissed through his clenched teeth, trying to concentrate. He couldn't help himself and glanced down at Hawke vigorously parrying the golem in admiration and he shuddered involuntarily when Samael dodged yet another vicious strike with difficulty, guffawing rather gleefully, yelling "That was a close call, Samael!"

"You don't say, Mahariel," Samael hissed at the elf, dancing backwards from the golem. "Maybe you should try another spell, since this isn't obviously working!" Samael's desperate words were drowned by the angry roar of the golem when he wasn't able to hit the nimble assassin yet. "Shall I fart him a lullaby instead?" Samael dared glancing at the elf who snorted in reply when he saw for himself his spell had simply no effect on the rampaging golem. It was at that moment when the golem finally managed to hit Samael's shoulder. Hawke whirled around after that mighty blow, feeling and what was even worse, hearing his shoulder creaking in protest. The katana clinked at the dirty flagstones since Samael's right arm was crippled right now. The golem swooped upon him, punching in frenzy every inch of Hawke's body he could reach.

Fawn was done pouting when he saw Hawke tumbling down with a scream of pain, but he could also see he wouldn't be able to get to them in time, since the stone creature was about to deliver a lethal punch aimed at the Hawke's head. However implausible it might sound, Hawke just froze, lying on the cold stone and squeezing the injured arm, and he simply stared into the lifeless stone face above him, his face serene and resolved, however his body was bruised and he was about to die.

Fawn let himself just for a second wondering about Hawke's obvious willingness to be crushed to death, and then he dropped the sword, raising his pale hands in front of his face, his burning gaze set at them. "We are the last of the Elvhenan, and never again shall we submit," he murmured, clenching his elegant slender fingers into fists until he felt the fingernails jabbing into his palms and drawing blood.

Samael closed the eyes, staying at his fetal position, when the golem's fist started whizzing through the air again. But he heard strange, unfamiliar sound instead of feeling a brief flash of pain and then oblivion. He cracked open his left eye only to open them wide both a second later. There was a thin shimmering silver shield enveloping him and the golem's fist reflected off of it, accompanied with an enraged bellow of the golem who was unable to reach Hawke for now. The next punch from the infuriated golem made the arcane shield shiver and Fawn cried out as though it was him whom the golem had hit, not the shield.

Samael sprang into action by that desperate wordless shout, knowing Fawn wouldn't be able to keep the shield around him much longer since the elf dropped to his knees, his widened eyes piercing implacably the golem.

"Come here and finish what your kind has started in the dark, forgotten corridors, gnawed deep beneath the ground," he sizzled towards the golem and the shield flashed in bright dazzling light, obviously getting stronger again. The golem staggered backwards from the shield and did the only possible thing – he went after the elf. Samael didn't see the first punch Fawn had gotten from the golem; he was only able to hear a soft moan coming from behind the broad golem's back as he reached for the katana with his left hand this time. He dragged himself up, ignoring the pain shooting from several epicenters throughout his body. He stumbled towards the golem from behind, thrusting the blade straight into the golem's torso with all his remaining strength only to be knocked down when the golem's arm shot blind in his direction. The golem roared, possibly in pain this time, and he tried to rip the weapon out of his back. At least it bought Fawn a little time, so he would be able to crawl as far from the golem as he could.

Samael hit the flagstones once more after he got punched, again; and this time he landed on his side and something hard and egg-shaped made a painful dimple between his ribs. A wave of pure fear washed over him when the shield around him blinked and went out, meaning that the arcane warrior was hurt or even about to die. Hawke groped the sore spot, swearing, then realized what it was in his pocket and he wasn't really thinking when he hurled the Sandal's rune stone at the golem. Samael had to cover his head since there was a shower of tiny icicles and snowflakes emanating from the spot where the rune stone had exploded, followed by a deafening silence.

When Samael dared uncover his face, he had to rub his eyes in disbelief, since the golem had turned into a pure ice statue, motionless, pellucid, just standing there like it had been there for ages. Samael's frostbitten katana was still jabbed in the golem's back. Samael crept on all fours around the ice golem, hissing every time he had to lean on the wounded arm, watching the statue in disbelief like it could become alive again any second. Nothing happened. Hawke's eyes widened though when he spotted Fawn lying helplessly on the stomach not far from him. He reached the elf and turned him around, brushing the fine hazel hair off the elf's face. To Samael's relief Fawn groaned, but his eyes remained close.

"They… they are calling me," Fawn whispered almost inaudibly, his eyelashes fluttering. "I won't go. I don't want to go. Not yet. Please, not yet…" his voice trailed off into something indecipherable.

Samael had no idea what the barely conscious elf spoke of, but that he was able to talk at all was a great comfort indeed. He gathered the elf into his arms, glancing around desperately. The pain raging in his shoulder became almost unbearable, but he forced himself to remain calm, when he started checking Fawn's body for injuries. His right leg was clearly broken and a darkening bruise on his left cheekbone looked frightening, but other than that Samael wasn't able to detect any serious wound. As he finished examining gently the limp left arm, he realized Fawn was watching him now. Maybe 'watching' wasn't the proper word here since his eyes turned into two black bottomless clefts.

"You fool," Fawn whispered, scowling as much as his bruised face let him.

"Ah, I'm glad to see you at your usual charming self," Samael replied, sounding much happier than he intended.

"Now you have a death wish or something? You've got your estate, you have Merrill and friends, wealth, yet you were prepared to die here. In this shithole! Next time I'll let you kick the bucket or I'll even help you, you…" Fawn's bitter voice faded into a moan when he tried to move his injured leg. "Are you insane?" he continued his questioning, squirming and clearly uncomfortable to be so close to Hawke.

"Yes," Samael answered the question with this simple choked word, since only this reply made any sense here. "Don't move, damn it," he droned; his eyes distant and thoughtful. Was the elf right? Why he let himself stare at the golem, doing absolutely nothing to save his skin, waiting patiently for a deadly blow like he had come here just for this one thing. Samael blinked this disturbing thought away, realizing Fawn had been watching him the whole time.

"Look who is preaching about insanity," Samael tried to change the subject. "What was that glorious speech about?" he asked the elf. "That part about finishing something that the golems have started in the Deep Roads?" he continued a merciless inquisition. Fawn tried to get out of Samael's tight embrace, but an intense pain took Fawn as he tilted his head backwards letting out a scream of pain as he did. Samael held back a scorching comment about the fidgety elves and he simply placed the palm on Fawn's cold forehead to calm him down. He wrapped his other arm around Fawn's torso, writhing in pain right now. Fawn relaxed, panting and setting his slightly open eyes at Samael's face once more. Hawke realized he was falling asleep, so he traced the elf's jawbone with a palm, shaking his body mildly to keep him awake.

"They'll get here soon, Fawn, don't worry," Samael whispered, reacting more to his own worries about Fawn's life, glancing into the corridor leading out of the Emporium. It was as if Merrill had heard him, walking through the sturdy door, smiling. Her smile froze though when she spotted first the headless corpse, then the slowly melting statue of a golem. She rushed inside with the name of her lover on the lips, glancing wildly around her, searching for him and covering her nose and mouth with a palm when the odious stench hit her.

"Over here!" Samael rasped, considering tossing Fawn on the flagstones, but somehow he couldn't force himself to do that. Merrill dashed to them, dropping to her knees and examining Samael like he was the one badly wounded. He gave her a calm smile, lifting the pale elf in his arms slightly since he was the one who needed immediate help. Hawke then nodded at Varric and Anders who were staring at the ice statue in awe.

"If you're done ogling the golem, we could use another healer here if you don't mind," Samael sneered at the blonde mage, who smirked back and approached the assassin with an obligatory question "So, where does it hurt this time, Hawke?"

oOo

Samael had an impression they were literally crawling through the darkening Hightown on their way home, but he was very content with the day. Anders volunteered to take Fawn back to the Hawke estate since he was pretty shaken after his encounter with the golem despite having his physical wounds healed by both Anders and Merrill. Varric with Merrill then continued to tend to Hawke's business and they had visited Samael's allies in Kirkwall one by one, calling for their loyalty and support against Raen Morrell. Varric and his agile tongue helped a great deal here, usually when Samael lost his temper or patience with this or that during negotiations.

Varric lagged a few steps behind the lovers, humming some vigorous dwarven tune, satisfied how the day had turned out and looking forward for dinner with Hawke, crackling fireplace and evening spent in the circle of friends. His gaze then slipped at those two silent silhouettes in front of him and Varric cocked the head, wondering what had caught his attention in the first place. They weren't talking to each other, not pawing or even touching each other as usually, they both were sauntering up the pathway with downcast eyes; yet there was something different or even odd about them. Varric had noticed they both had been walking on pins and needles during the whole afternoon, glancing at each other when the other one wasn't looking, not daring touching or interacting in other way than business-like. And when Varric had asked them in nonchalance to pass him the bottle of red wine in the Corff's house and they both reached at the same time for the bottle, so their hands finally touched each other, the dwarf would swear there was a brief flash of electricity between them, since they both twitched and pulled their hands back in awkward silence.

But the more Varric tried to figure out what was going on here, the more he got confused, since he wasn't aware the two lovers have had a fight or something and he was sure he would know since when those two crazy kids had a misunderstanding, usually the half of Kirkwall knew and even the pigeons on the Chantry roof were cooing about it. Samael felt the rising tension during the whole day and he wasn't even sure what the hell was going on and that made him even more disconcerted.

Once they had reached the front door of Hawke estate, Samael opened it for Merrill rather chivalrously, making Varric wondering for a second and realizing in awe that Hawke wasn't such a lost case after all. Samael was greeted in a clamorous way as he glanced around the main hall, realizing they were all there; all his friends. All his friends, except for…

"Where is Fenris?" he asked, upset, his eyes searching his friends' silent faces in disquiet.

"Messere, your elven friend hasn't show up yet," Bodahn dared entering the uncomfortable silence, genuine concern in his voice.

"He won't come, Hawke," Anders stood up, watching Samael with his eyes narrowed. "I need to talk to you about him actually," he closed the distance between them, glancing at Aveline who just shook her head like she was warning the mage about saying a word about the lyrium warrior.

"Why do I have the impression I'm not going to like this?" Samael muttered to himself, gesturing towards the empty armchairs by the purring fireplace. Bodahn brought them a quick drink before dinner which was no doubt yet another great, awfully opulent feast. Clearly Anders wasn't comfortable with Merrill sitting casually down on the fur by Samael's seat, but he didn't dare ask her to go away.

"So what he's done this time, huh?" Samael started the unpleasant conversation. "Drowned your lovely kitten? Plundered your stock of Fereldan Circle swill? Scared shitless your patients? Threatened again to drag you to the Gallows?" Samael realized he would be able to continue in the list of Fenris' sins for a very long, long time, so he fell silent instead, leaning comfortably back in the cozy armchair.

"Actually I wanted to talk about what _you_ have done to _him_, Samael," Anders growled with a poorly hidden grudge.

"Me?" Samael stared at the blonde mage in amazement. "What I've done to him? I have no idea what are you talking about!" he shook his head, musing about some logic explanation.

"Of course you don't…" Anders peered askance at Hawke and blue flames flashed briefly in his eyes.

"I mean it," Samael defended himself, a bit narked about Anders' wry expression. "I haven't even seen him in —"

"Precisely, Hawke. You don't give a damn about him anymore! He served his purpose in your damned bed and then you tossed him away like a toy!" Anders finished his speech shouting and jumping up on his feet, enraged about Hawke's hypocrisy.

"What… How…" Samael thought he had heard wrong, but yes. Yes, Anders was really foolish enough to not only accuse him of not caring for Fenris; he even needed to let everyone know Samael and Fenris had much more between them than a simple friendship. The thought that Merrill would learn about him and Fenris in such way sent creeps down Samael's spine, but luckily for them and their relationship Samael had already told her about Fenris.

Samael slowly stood up as well, struggling to remain calm, realizing the whole room was gaping at him. Before he could open the mouth, Isabela marched to him, poking her index finger into his chest. "How it comes I wasn't invited to your bed merrymaking along with Fenris?" Isabela seemed genuinely upset that she had been left out. Samael just rolled his eyes about her rebuke, pushing her aside so he would face the mage again. A brief glance at Merrill told him she fought with herself not to scratch Anders' eyes out. Or maybe it was Samael who was to blame here in her eyes?

"Aveline!" Hawke turned to the silent Guards Captain suddenly and she almost choked on the oyster. "You seem to know something about this," he halted in front of her, piercing her through with his eyes narrowed.

"He threatened to, and I quote him here, 'decapitate my pony-boy', if I happened to tell you anything about him," Aveline shrugged, not really concerned about Fenris' threat. She seemed utterly indifferent to this constant relationship mess around Hawke.

"You have a pony?" Merrill squeaked out, crawling on all four to Aveline. "How come I haven't seen it? Does it have a name? Can I see it now?" she rambled, obviously thrilled, and her eyes were growing bigger and bigger with her every word.

"Merrill…" Aveline sighed heavily, shaking her head about Merrill's innocent question. Once Merrill searched the faces around her, she turned to Hawke with a puzzled expression.

"There's no pony, is there?" her face darkened, when Samael simply shook his head at her pouty question like there was no pony indeed. Aveline realized Samael was still waiting for her to speak.

"I don't know much, Samael. I just know he's drinking lately, drinking way too much," she pointed out the problem. "I'm not proud of myself, but I was forced to arrest him twice for causing a fracas in the Swaying Boar inn, and a week later the Guards brought him in again, since he was pissing on the Chantry door," she finished her narration, scowling at the tray with oysters like they were the reason for Fenris' rampage.

"Pissing on the—" Samael wasn't able to finish the sentence, since he burst out laughing, collapsing into the armchair again. "I'm sorry, Captain," he brayed in laughter, "but it all just sounds very much like my Fenris, you know…" he hid his face in palms to calm down.

"Fucking hilarious," Anders grumbled with his arms folded on chest, glaring at Hawke.

"ENOUGH!" Varric had run out of patience obviously as his shouting silenced the quarrel. "You," he jabbed his finger in the Anders' direction, "over there!" Varric gestured towards the seat next to Isabela on the sofa and she patted the spot next to her, blinking at the handsome mage seductively. But Varric wasn't done, oh no. "You keep eating those oysters and I guarantee you that you won't fit into those shiny uniforms of yours," he continued, sneering at Aveline and finally he turned to Hawke. "And you! Come sit with me, Hawke. I have a serious problem here!"

Samael set his jaw about being ordered at his own estate in such way, but he was glad Varric had ended that ridiculous row, so he keeled over next to the dwarf with a proper broody expression on his face. He pretended he didn't notice Merrill had been sneaking right behind him and she seated herself by his feet again, polishing her already flawless staff.

"So, what's your serious problem, dwarf?" Samael gave Varric a suspicious grin.

"I've managed to write down the Spring Slaughter finally, but—" Varric started, rubbing his chin.

"The Spring what?" Hawke thought for once more he might have heard wrong.

"The attempt to assassinate you at the Hanged Man," Varric rolled his eyes, impatient and offended like he couldn't fathom how Samael dared not know how his newest volume was named. The hero of this story spluttered out a chain of the worst swearing Varric had ever heard in his life, but the dwarf didn't seem to care. "I've got stuck at the ending though, Samael. I don't know how you killed that Crow. Sieggbard was his name, right?" he made sure he had a correct name of the Antivan hit man.

"Yes. Sven Sieggbard." Varric arched an eyebrow since Samael said it with unexpected sorrow in his voice like he was regretting killing the young Crow. "I'm afraid I have to disappoint you, Varric," Hawke continued after a moment of silence during which everybody went back to their own thoughts or conversations. "I was pretty much wrecked when I got out of the burning inn and Sven beated me down in no time. He would have killed me there no doubt if only he wasn't such a braggart." Samael shook his head after this statement. "But he made a tiny mistake and it cost him the highest price," he almost whispered, lost in that memory.

"Huh…" Varric murmured, discontent and unconcerned about Hawke's sadness. "No glory in this version," he smirked at Hawke, realizing too late he shouldn't have said that.

"No, Varric!" Samael jumped up on his feet, stumbling over his elf. "No glory in killing a person! I'm so, so sorry I've disappointed you!" Samael realized they were all staring at him again after this sudden outburst, and he felt tired, Maker, tired, old and unclean.

"Since when do you care for Fenris anyway?" Samael shot an unexpected question at the blonde mage who remained silent on his seat until now.

"Since… I don't care for him!" Anders raised his hands to disengage himself from the unpleasant topic.

"Right…" Samael grimaced and strolled to the fidgeting mage. His gaze landed back at Merrill who was watching him intently again, oblivious to everything else in the room. Samael found himself ensnared into her eyes and he knew if he couldn't have her right now, he would have probably tried to kill Anders for his intrusion regarding his feelings for Fenris, or said something highly inappropriate to Aveline, insulted Varric for staring at him or scolded Charon for breathing so loudly.

"Everyone… out," he whispered finally, not taking his eyes off Merrill.

"Beg you a pardon, Hawke?" Aveline frowned, daring him to repeat that discourteous order.

"I said get out, all of you," he jabbed his eyes into Aveline, challenging her to defy him. Luckily for him, Varric had an idea what had caused this unexpected twist and he pushed everyone out of the door, simply bowing to Samael before he shut the front door behind him.

"Bodahn!" Samael's voice thundered in the main hall. The dwarf trotted to him from the kitchen, realizing his master had probably one of _those_ episodes.

"How's Fawn?" Hawke turned to the dwarf, trembling in anger and feeling out of control.

"Messere Mahariel wanted a cup of herb tea, but I brought him the whole teakettle along with warm biscuits. I'm afraid he didn't look well, my lord," Bodahn shook his head, lost in thoughts. "I suppose he's asleep right now."

"Good. Go check on him, then go to sleep, Bodahn." Samael said it slowly, watching the dwarf with the fire burning in his eyes. Usually, Bodahn would whine about the delicious dinner which was already prepared for everyone in the dining room, but not tonight, oh no. Bodahn knew very well by now, when he was supposed to talk and when not. He gave a subtle bow to his master, disappearing in the kitchen again.

"You…" Samael turned to the silent Merrill leaning on the armchair. "The bedroom. Now," he ordered her, marching there himself right after the last word and not even glancing behind him if the Dalish girl followed him or not. He simply knew she did.

oOo

Once they were alone in their bedroom, Merrill simply shuffled to the centre of the room, watching Samael pacing around her in circles and glaring at her like it was all her fault he felt this warped and restless. He intended to ask her what the hell was going on with them the whole day, why there were avoiding each other in panic, but he simply wasn't able to speak when he finally halted in front of her.

Their gazes locked, their faces mirroring the same uneasiness, none of them moved or said anything. They tore at each other at the same moment, completely out of control. Merrill's fingers were frantically working on the clever clasps fastening Samael's black leather jerkin, then she stripped the garment roughly off him, tracing his now bare chest with the fingers while returning his kisses vigorously. Samael had much easier job here since Merrill wore just airy home attire, so he simply pulled it over her head, devouring her mouth again as soon as she stood there in all her beauty.

Their tongues dancing together, Merrill fumbled at his belt, moaning in discontent when the buckle resisted getting loose, and cupping her lover's face when it finally thudded on the carpet; the throwing knives scattering all around them. Samael thumbed the first button of his britches open, but he was unbelievably slow for Merrill's intentions as she dropped to her knees in front of him, caressing his body on her way down. Her hands dealt with the remaining buttons on his pantaloons in a second and she peeled them off him once Samael kicked his soft leather boots away. Merrill glanced up at him just once, her eyes filled with feral lust and a need Samael understood better than anyone else.

Merrill took a moment to lick the beautiful cock suspended at her eye level, but Samael pulled her up after a moment, too impatient and far beyond the point of wanting to make slow and tender love. Merrill's arms started snaking around his nape as she leaned on him, offering him her lips again, so he could taste himself. Samael pulled her thigh up around his waist, stroking it on his way back to grasp her hip. Merrill giggled and, jumping up slightly, she wrapped her other leg around his waist as well, clinging to him with that perfection when two parts of something lonely, imperfect and lost get together to merge into one being, seamless, complete and somehow divine.

Samael had no idea for how long they were stumbling through the bedroom, breaking things when they got into their way and competing for dominance over the other one. Once they tumbled down into the spacious bed, wedged hopelessly into each other, Samael knew immediately this was the moment he had been picturing in his head through the whole damned day. Merrill threw the pillows by the bed frame in a quick staccato, pushing her lover to sit there and comfortably leaned on them. Samael had to admit this bossy and tenacious Merrill was even more appealing for him, as he grabbed her and pulled her closer to him, so she was straddling him now. When he entered her again, they both groaned in pleasure, drowning into the other one's eyes in a tight embrace and Merrill started rocking slowly back and forth, occasionally leaning to him for a long and passionate kiss only to tilt her head up to let out a moan of delight.

A blade flashed in front of Samael's face and for a brief moment he was able to see his glowing amber eyes in it. Oh, Samael wished she wouldn't have done that, but apparently there was no way back for either of them. Merrill slowed the pace, watching Samael's reaction about what was about to happen next. The assassin was aware of her hungry widened eyes and a rabid need for his blood that was emanating from her.

"Do it," Samael hissed when he realized Merrill was waiting for him to either stop her or let her satiate her desire. Merrill face twisted into desperate smile, but Samael noticed that almost imperceptible vicious sneer which had run across her face when the knife sliced through the skin on his chest, disappearing just as quickly as it appeared. Samael tilted his head up, managing the pain from a fresh wound, his breathing shallow and quickened.

The Dalish witch jabbed the blood-stained blade into the sheets like it had burnt her and she didn't dare looking at this moment into Samael's face, too afraid what she would see in his eyes. Merrill caught with her tongue the thin rivulet of blood streaming lazily down the assassin's torso and her lips were eagerly licking the way back to the slash on his skin where she attached her lips with a blissful and loud moan.

"Fucking Gods above!" Samael couldn't bear the silence anymore and the fact Merrill's doing had aroused him beyond measure. "This is so, so wrong," he breathed out, but apparently his hands had other opinion since they forced Merrill to start moving again. She happily obliged his demand for release from this intoxicating nightmare, wrapping her thin arms around him in utter acceptance and devotion. If Samael was disgusted or even scared of his own blood dripping off her lips, he didn't show it, since he pulled her into a deep, breathless kiss. He shivered though when he was able to detect that strong metal taste of his blood on her tongue.

The burning of her heated skin against his own was driving Samael mad and Merrill felt deep within her belly an unbearable tension which had been building there for the whole day. She strove towards it, let herself get lost in it, her soft moans turning into screams, and pleas, and eventually wordless shrieks as the climax finally crashed upon her, leaving her helplessly trembling in her lover's arms. Samael was defeated at the same time with the same urgency, letting out a mighty howl which had transformed into ragged panting with his eyelids pressed together like he couldn't bear to look at what he had done a minute ago. What he let _her_ to do, in fact.

When Samael came back to himself, he nestled the limp Merrill gently on the sheets, then swung his feet off the bed and sat there on a bed edge in silence with his head in palms. Maker, what just had happened? If it was so wrong, why it felt so fucking good? Merrill reached for him, hesitant, but before she could touch him, Samael jumped up on his feet, raking all ten fingers through his disheveled black veil of hair.

"Right," he blurted out finally, not looking at her and dressing up, distracted. Before even Merrill had a chance to open her mouth, the assassin headed for the door, hissing, when the rough leather chafed the slash on his chest.

"Samael, wait!" Merrill exclaimed in pure panic, wrapping the sheet around her.

"For what?" he whispered, facing the bedroom door with a hand laid on the brass door knob.

"We need to talk about this," she scrambled out of the bed, but didn't dare approach him.

"No, we don't!" he shot a venomous reply at her, whirling around to face her. Then he realized he was just trying to vent his own confusion and frustration on her and his hand soared to his forehead, brushing it, like it could chase away that disquiet caused by what they had done.

"I have a meeting with the Arishok." Samael's tone sounded hollow and cold now and Merrill wasn't able to decide what was better – his wrath or his pretended disinterest. He dismissed her wish to go with him with a raised hand and Merrill realized his ring was gone, resting still on the night table by the bed where he had set it yesterday night.

"Please, put on the ring at least," she pleaded with him when she took the black annulet and reached an open palm with the ring in his direction. Of course she wanted to have at least this little connection with him, so she would be able to know where he was, if he was all right and even more importantly how he felt.

"Believe me, you don't want to know how I feel right now," Samael marred her endeavour and just like that he was gone.

oOo

Samael kicked everything along his lone way to the docks, crushing curses between his teeth. He finished dressing up properly outside of his estate and grabbed just the katana on his way out. Now he was marching through the sleeping Lowtown with occasional pedestrians who were avoiding him since he looked he would murder anyone crossing his path before asking any questions.

Once he reached the dark corridor with steps leading down to the seashore, an unfamiliar swoosh interrupted his whirling sullen thoughts. It took him an unbelievably long second to realize there was a thick plumed bolt stuck in his stomach. When he gazed up again, yet another bolt whistle through the night and jabbed mercilessly into his chest.

Samael ripped the katana out of its sheath, staggering backwards, since the third bolt pierced his thigh. Samael howled and dropped to his knees, the katana lying on the ground with his hand grasping loosely the hilt.

Just like that. Everything would end here. Because he was so silly to go out alone despite the fact the Coterie leader was after him and not paying attention what was going on around him. The chuckling heads of the hidden thugs started appearing around Hawke, but he saw them just through the blurred veil since the blood was unstoppably oozing out of him. From this reason Samael had no idea something else caught his murderers' attention since _someone_ had started dispatching them one by one. Silent, inexorably swift and imperceptible like a night wind.

Samael collapsed on his side, still desperately clenching the katana, when he attempted to rip the bolt out of his chest with his other hand. He hissed both in surprise and pain when a hooded figure turned him roughly on his back, kneeling above him.

"Who are you?" Samael breathed out, coughing and trying to focus his eyes at his saviour. Or was it just another ghost from his past?

"Shut up and drink it!" the stranger commanded him, pushing a vial with light purple liquid to the assassin's lips.

"You…" Samael groaned in anguish when he recognized the voice. "Get lost, Ichabod. Not in the mood for playing games with you. Ever again," he added, moaning when he groped his wounded belly.

"Drink it if you want to see again that little lovely blood mage of yours!" Ichabod pulled down a hood, sneering down at Hawke. Samael realized he wouldn't be able to drag himself for help and he regretted deeply he hadn't taken at least Charon with him. Now he was all alone here. Alone with that freak. The only thing that could have helped him was the ring, but he hadn't taken it in arrogance and it was the time to pay the price.

Ichabod Bane snorted when Samael ignored him; he grasped him by his long hair, tilting his head up, and poured the liquid in the vial straight down his throat, cackling when the assassin choked on the fluid.

"Good boy," he purred into Hawke's ear, when the assassin gulped down the potion involuntarily and went immediately limp in Ichabod's abrasive arms once he yanked him closer to him.

"Good boy indeed," he continued in his dark cackling, watching Hawke's falling eyelids.

"Drank it all up in two gulps. You deserve a medal or holiday or at least a cuddle from somebody, lad…" Ichabod's derisive voice trailed off when he glanced around to make sure nobody had survived this encounter. Nobody but himself and his _son_.


	18. Chapter 18

A lone beam of sunlight was traveling along Samael's legs tangled in a blanket, continued across his bare stomach and his arms lying relaxed by his sides and when it reached his serene face, Hawke stirred and squinted around with his amber eyes barely unstuck.

Huh, interesting. An unfamiliar small room with tiny window right below the ceiling, an unfamiliar creaking, narrow bed, an unfamiliar itchy blanket and a definitely unfamiliar silhouette sitting in the massive armchair in the corner still drowned in early morning shadows.

"Where… where am I?" Hawke rasped through his chapped lips, stumbling over these three simple words since his mouth felt like a desert. When no answer came, Samael tried to support himself on an elbow, but he hissed in pain instead, his head collapsing back onto the flat pillow. Only now he noticed he was naked beneath the scratchy blanket and there were three weeping bandages on his body. He also saw there was a queer periwinkle-green gunge beneath each bandage and when he tried to sniff the nearest wound on his chest, he flinched back since there was an awful stench clearly coming from the odd slime. The slash across his chest Merrill had made there wasn't bandaged, but there was the same dried green gunge on it.

"I thought it would be interesting to see if you die, Hawke." A well-known deep voice finally chased away the silence and the Arishok stood up gracefully from his observation post, strolling to the bed. He looked ridiculously huge in the cramped room as he loomed over the lying Samael.

"Why haven't you called me a healer?" Samael watched the Arishok in submission, feeling a bit dizzy and the wounds were throbbing.

"Your injuries are treated the best way we know and I ordered the Saarebas to tend to you while you were out." The Arishok shrugged like it was all he could do for Hawke and he looked a bit annoyed because of the lack of gratitude in Hawke's expression.

"What if the wounds were beyond the healing abilities of your Saarebas?" Samael found himself interested in this matter, forgetting about his situation for a moment. 

"Then you would die," the Arishok replied, unconcerned. He saw Samael wasn't satiated with this terse answer, so he tried to explain. "The Qunari dies when his time comes. No Saarebas can save him, though the Qunari can survive even the worst injuries if he is supposed to live on."

"I am no Qunari," Samael dared stating the obvious and the Arishok had no answer for that.

"You were writhing in fever for four days, Hawke." The Arishok spoke after a moment of intent staring at the pale human.

"What?" Samael's eyes widened and this time he managed to support his aching body on the elbows, his mind frantically musing about what had happened in those few days he was missing. "How did I end up here anyway?" his elbows betrayed him as he tumbled on his back again.

"Is that another joke you humans like to embarrass yourselves with?" the Qunari leader grunted.

"No!" Samael insisted on his question. He was able to remember the shooting pain when those bolts had pierced his body; how the thugs had disappeared suddenly and then… Ichabod's expressive face bending over him, his empty eyes flashing with odd urgency, forcing him to drink some quack medicine. Hawke rubbed his temples, trying to remember anything else, but he simply wasn't able to. 

"Fair enough," the Arishok concluded Hawke really had no idea how he had gotten here. "I simply found you lying on our meeting place," he started sauntering around the room. "There was no blood around you though and you looked like you were just sleeping," the Qunari fell silent like it was all he could tell Hawke about it.

"And?" Samael glared at the Qunari, impatient.

"And nothing. You had three bolts in your body, I've brought you here unconscious, ordered the Saarebas to look after you and obviously you weren't meant to die in here." The Arishok seemed even bored a bit by now, definitely tired with Hawke's questions, yet he continued in his narration. "The bolt in your leg went through the muscle, no big damage. The one in your stomach got stuck in the armor and only scratched you, but the bolt in your chest caused a serious wound."

"Was anybody looking for me here?" Samael breathed out a rather hesitant question, afraid of a negative answer. 

"Actually, the Sten told me it looks like the whole Kirkwall is searching for you, Hawke," the Qunari sneered for real this time, like it was amusing as hell to watch humans looking for something they had no chance to find.

"Great…" Samael mumbled, gaping at the cracks in the ceiling. "Wait. Why have you kept me secret here then?" he asked, his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"I don't know nor care who caused these injuries on your body, but I figured the enemy would attempt to finish you off while you were sick. That annoying red-headed Captain of yours tried to sniff around the compound along with her puppets in armor, but I forced her to leave, claiming I haven't seen you." Now these casual words indeed astonished Hawke, since the Arishok might not have seen that, but he actually tried to protect him selflessly.

_So… they were searching for me. Huh. I don't know why, but it feels actually good. Merrill had no way to track me down since I left my ring at the estate and she drank up my blood from the vial, so she couldn't use her blood magic to find me either. My Merrill…_

The Arishok sank into his armchair again when he saw Hawke was lost deep in his thoughts. He was musing about how he would feel if Merrill happened to disappear for four days, without a trace, just like that. Would he start searching for her? Well, he would. Eventually. But he would be scared, oh yes. Scared and insecure if she had left him by her choice or something bad had happened to her. The whirling thoughts in Samael's head were slowing down and he was asleep again before he knew it. 

oOo 

"Check," Samael grinned at the silent Qunari, pushing the knight figure nearer to the Arishok's king figure. Two whole days had passed when he wasn't able to get up yet, but today – finally – the Arishok let him out of his little cell and it felt completely natural when they happened to spend a day together, filled with Samael's myriads of questions, but the taciturn Arishok had answered only couple of them. Hawke was also allowed to examine the compound, but the rest of the Qunari were looking at him with open grudge or at least mistrust, although nobody dared question the Arishok about having a human there.

After Samael wolfed down dinner, sitting among the karataam like they were his own people, he was summoned to the Arishok's quarters and was genuinely surprised when he found out the Qunari leader's chambers were quite elegant with massive furniture, huge chandeliers and finely woven and embroidered tapestries on the stone walls.

The Arishok himself was lounging in a wooden throne by the small fireplace, a jug of mead in his rough hands, and there was a low table by his seat with another armchair. Samael glanced around the now darkened room, stepping cautiously forward and sinking obediently into the armchair, when the Arishok ordered him to. They started playing chess, speaking only occasionally, and Samael couldn't remember when he felt this calm and carefree. Of course, he had pangs of conscience, because he remained in the compound incognito, leaving his friends and more importantly Merrill groping in the dark about what had happened to him, but he simply couldn't leave. Not yet. When the game was over they stayed in their seats, watching the crackling fire in silence and sipping the warm mead.

"I called you here to entertain me, Hawke. Not win the chess game, plunder my stock of mead and fall asleep in my armchair," the Arishok shot a morose remark at Samael suddenly, making him burst into genuine laughter. He stopped though, when his chest started to ache again as he pressed his hand on the wound, his smile twisting into grin of pain.

"You're still hurting," the Qunari stated the obvious, when he watched the panting human and his set jaw.

"I guess I was used to get healed by the mages in no time and this constant pain is wearing on me now," Samael shrugged, trying to suppress that humiliating undertone full of pain in his quiet voice. The Arishok simply nodded in reply, not taking his dead eyes off Samael, but Hawke had already gotten used to the Qunari's way of conversation and his eternal staring.

"Care to tell me finally, what is it that keeps you stuck in Kirkwall?" Samael asked the first question that had crossed his mind, since he started feeling uncomfortable under the Arishok's scrutiny. The Qunari scowled about this cheeky question, and when Samael thought there would be no reply, the Arishok spoke after all.

"Tell me, Hawke, what's the name of the sacred Chantry book?" the Qunari replied with a question.

"Ah, you mean the Chant of Light?" Samael had no idea why the Arishok had asked about it, but he was glad he talked at all. "If you're gonna ask what's written there, I have to disappoint you. I simply don't know," he set the empty jug on the table; ruminating over how rude it would be if he asked the Arishok for refill. 

"You do not know?" the Qunari raised an eyebrow at Hawke.

"Don't know, don't care," Samael laughed, snatching his jug again and licking the last drops of delicious mead.

"You are allowed not to care about what your religion is about?" the Qunari seemed genuinely intrigued about this thought.

"I am no Andrastian," Samael shook his head in vigour, finally noticing a ewer where might be… more mead.

"But what about your Maker? Don't you pray to him for those ridiculous things your people are dwelling on?" the Arishok sneered, as always when he spoke about humans.

"The Maker…" Samael laughed again, but this time it sounded rather desperate as his face turned into sardonic mask. "The Maker is dead." Samael hissed at the Arishok, stood up abruptly, intending to investigate the ewer, but he swayed since his thigh was still very weak, and collapsed quite ingloriously on the cold stone floor.

"Damn it!" he howled in pain, feeling really like a pitifully squishy human. He expected the Arishok to sneer about his ignominious tumble, but he strolled to him instead, pulled him roughly up on his feeble feet again and pushed the rogue back into the armchair. He then seated himself with dignity back into his own throne, clearly intending to continue in their conversation like nothing had happened.

"As the Chantry has the Chant of Light, the Qunari have a sacrosanct tome, written by the Ashkaari Koslun." Arishok leaned backwards in his seat after this statement, his expression turning into an impenetrable wall. Samael watched him intently, obviously waiting for more. "The Tome of Koslun was stolen under my command and I am denied the Par Vollen until I recover what was lost," the Arishok spoke again, then fell silent for a long time, his distant eyes roaming around the chamber.

"And?" Samael asked finally, impatient to learn more. "Are you searching or something for this sacred scripture of Qunari lore?"

"I will say no more, Hawke," the Arishok retorted, jumping out of the throne in disquiet. They stayed silent for a long time, during which Samael had filled the jugs with mead again and the Arishok watched him with an almost imperceptible smile on the lips when the assassin limped around the dim room, admiring the elaborate tapestries.

"Who did that to you?" the Qunari ripped the silence apart with this terse question, regarding Samael's wrecked state no doubt.

"Where should I start?" Hawke tittered, stroking the aching thigh. "I have an unfinished business with the Coterie leader – I don't know if you know him. He claims I killed his sister," Samael lowered his head when he realized he wasn't able to say her name out loud.

"And did you?" the Arishok asked when Samael didn't seem he would continue.

"I certainly did not!" the amber eyes flashing in outrage pierced the Qunari who stayed still and silent after this outburst.

"You cared for her," he shared his keen observation with Hawke who shot a startled glance at him. 

"I… I think I did," Samael whispered just to himself, like he was afraid to say it out loud. Then he coughed, forcing himself to get a hold of his feelings again and sound steady when he spoke again. "I will leave tomorrow night," he searched the Arishok's face to capture his reaction about him leaving the compound so soon. 

"Yes." If Samael anticipated any other reply, he didn't show it, since the Arishok had obviously no other answer than this simple acknowledgment of Hawke's intentions to go back to his life tomorrow.

"Am I allowed to spend one last day here?" Samael asked quietly, hesitant, like he was afraid the Arishok would turn down his obvious desire to stick here for yet another day.

The Arishok seemed just for a second genuinely astonished by this simple and polite plea, coming from usually sardonic and insufferable human. He took his time with the reply, however, since he took a few deep gulps of mead first.

"You are allowed to stay here for one more day, Hawke," he answered the question finally, slowly standing up. He did notice a mild grin on Samael's face regarding the permission to have yet another calm day in the compound. Samael realized the Arishok wanted him to leave now, so he scrambled out of his cozy armchair and headed for the door. His hand froze on the massive door latch though, like something kept nagging him.

"Why?" he turned to the Arishok, who had already started unlacing his attire, clearly intending to turn in. Hawke realized after a moment he would have to give the Arishok more than this one word if he wanted an answer. "Why have you saved me?" Samael leaned on the closed door.

"Don't question my decisions, Hawke," the Qunari grumbled, but Samael was able to see the Arishok himself had no idea why.

"Be grateful," the Arishok ended the conversation, visibly uncomfortable about this prodding question. Samael gave him a deep graceful bow, since he realized he hadn't thanked yet the Qunari for saving him and allowing him to stay in his compound. When he straightened up again, he noticed the Qunari had on his face something very similar to a pleased expression.

"Good night," Hawke walked through the door and shut it close behind him, not waiting for an answer, since he was afraid it wouldn't come anyway.

oOo 

"I'm sorry about your karataam," Samael whispered and wriggled with uneasiness when no reply came from the Arishok. They both stood by the compound entrance around midnight, trying to catch each other's gaze, but they couldn't since the stars and the moon were hidden under the pall of the low heavy clouds.

"There's a storm coming, Hawke," the Qunari glanced up the sky, then set his eyes back at Samael's shadowed face. Somehow Hawke knew the Arishok wasn't speaking just about the weather. 

"And I'll be caught just in the middle of it," Samael remarked in the same ambiguous way, clasping the katana hilt like it was supposed to protect him from whatever Raen, Xenon, Ichabod and many others had hidden up their sleeves for Hawke.

"Don't you want to give me your sword of Seheron now, Hawke?" the Arishok stepped closer to Samael, touching briefly the katana scabbard. 

"I certainly do not!" Samael scowled at the Qunari's silhouette, taking a step backwards from the giant. "Unless…" Samael realized he was being ungrateful again. "Unless you would want it as a token of my gratitude for saving my life," he added with an unexpected submission, half-saying farewell to his precious weapon.

"Keep it," the Qunari replied after a moment, as though he was satisfied simply with Hawke's willingness to yield and give him the splendid katana after all.

"I don't know if I can win this fight, Arishok," Samael sighed and glanced back into the dim Qunari compound with longing, like he wasn't ready to face the reality yet and go back to his life. "It's just… so hard. I have no idea who is still my friend and who isn't. The Viscount owns my ass, the foolish Chantry is obviously behind the deaths of your brethren, Meredith has started realizing I live with an apostate, Aveline barely holds in check many investigations regarding my business, and I'm so fucking tired of everything." Samael realized he was just whining now, but everybody expected him to be always the strong and adamant one. Nobody cared where Samael would find a shoulder to cry on or a support when he needed it.

The Arishok was quiet after Hawke's words and the assassin was wondering why he hadn't returned to his compound yet and continued in their conversation.

"The war isn't about if you think you can win, Hawke. It's about being willing to die for something you believe is worth dying for." The Arishok finally entered the silence.

"Nice speech," Samael sneered, but realized the Qunari's words were thoughtful and wise; however he mocked them a bit now. "A noble-deeds-doing good man I am not. I like my skin…" Samael's voice trailed off since he recalled his resigned waiting for the golem to crush him to death a week ago or his indifference about being marked by the Coterie sign of death. Was he really keen on living right now?

"Panahedan, Hawke." Samael looked up at the Arishok after those farewell words, feeling that ridiculous anxiety about leaving the compound rising inside of him.

"May I come back?" the assassin blurted out without thinking.

"No," the Arishok replied immediately like he had been thinking about this matter for a long time. Hawke, who had lowered the head with puckered lips after being rejected, couldn't see that brief smile running across the Qunari's face, when the Arishok realized how fond Samael had grown of this compound during that one week.

Only the quiet creaking of the gate leading to the Qunari compound let Hawke know he was now all alone. 

oOo 

Samael stared at his estate, the windows glowing into the night, and he kept guessing what was going on inside, rather than seeing for himself. How he was supposed to go in there just like that, after a week of being missing? What should he say? How should he behave? How could he possibly explain that after he had gotten better after the attack, he didn't come home immediately, or at least send a bloody message about him being alive still?

Those were the main reasons why he was standing in the rain now, unable to enter his own mansion. He just pictured himself walking through the front door in nonchalance, asking about the dinner like nothing had happened and this vivid image made him laugh and swear at the same time. When Samael realized he was drenched to his bones and trembling in the yowling wind, he started finally walking to the entrance, only to pass by it like a coward, when he suddenly decided the entrance in the basement would be more suitable for his intentions. Oh yes, Samael indeed wanted to eavesdrop for a while, because he would love to know if the mice had a party when the cat wasn't around.

oOo 

"—but he hasn't seen him either, Aveline. It was my only contact to the Coterie." Anders was whirling his glass of red wine, sitting on a sofa next to the tipsy Isabela; the brooding Fenris was lounging next to her, not compliant for her games tonight.

"Is it possible he lied to you?" Aveline was clearly marching through the hall since Samael heard her strident voice from different places. 

"I don't think so," Anders replied. "Two weeks ago he brought his dying wife to my clinic, the poor thing was raped and stabbed, and I healed her. Well, at least her body. He wouldn't lie to me. Now we have confirmed at least Raen doesn't have Hawke stashed somewhere, clapped in the irons or worse." Anders tried really hard to sound cheerfully, but he failed big time.

"Varric?" Aveline turned to the dwarf who was sitting hunched in the armchair by the fireplace, staring into the Hawke's empty seat.

"I'm afraid nothing, Aveline." Varric shook his head, waking up from his lethargy. "I've already used all my connections, spies, urchins, whatever, and nothing. It's like he just vanished." Varric murmured and fell silent again.

"My first guess was that he… hiccup… he's whoring for the whole week at the Blooming Rose, but then I realized… hiccup… that I live there now, so I would have to… stumble over him there, right? " Isabela's eyes drowned in alcohol started wandering around the room, trying to focus at the faces around her. Fenris just snorted and poured her yet another drink to shut her ramble up. Samael stirred in his hiding place and the irony of this situation crushed him. Yes. Hawke was really hiding in his own mansion, listening to his friends' plans how to find him, and so far he wasn't able to enter the main hall and let them know he was all right. Physically all right at least. The fact he hadn't heard Merrill speaking was scaring the hell out of him and Samael was genuinely surprised, when he recognized Sebastian's velvet voice interrupting the silence.

"Did it occur to you he might be in Fereldan?" he asked the audience, hesitant, but with a bitter undertone, like he was angry at Hawke, that he kept them all searching for him. "What if he simply woke up and decided to leave Kirkwall? It wouldn't be for the first time and—" Sebastian's ardent speech was cut, when _someone_ tried to fry him with two bright electric arcs, only to slam him into the wall a second later.

"Ho, ho, ho, Daisy!" Varric appeared in a second right next to the fuming Merrill, prying the blood magic knife out of her shaking hand. "Don't get me wrong, I find this whiny Chantry puppy as boring as you do, but I dare say Starkhaven would rather have some heir, than none." The dwarf grinned at the elven girl, snaking an arm around her waist and pushing her gently away of the shocked prince.

"Stop fidgeting, Bela!" the blonde mage lost the patience while healing her slashed arm.

"Ah, what about we go into the bedroom and do some _fidgeting_ together?" Isabela leaned to the handsome mage, allowing him to admire her impressive bosom.

"Ehm, I… well… that's some huge… I mean… stop squirming, damn it!" Anders blushed and forced himself to focus on the injury.

"What happened anyway?" Varric seated Merrill who was still glaring at Vael in the Samael's armchair, collapsing back into his seat again.

"The Morrell's men were waiting… hiccup… for us in my room at the brothel! Can you believe that? I just came—" the pirate queen burst out guffawing. "Do you get it? I went to the brothel, then I _came_," she fell off the sofa, roaring in laughter about her own joke.

"Hilarious, pirate," Fenris grumbled, rolling his eyes.

"Waiting for _us_?" Varric narrowed the eyes, watching the minx wallowing on the fur.

"She's banging that freaking elf. Don't pretend you didn't know about it!" Fenris spluttered out, reaching over the empty spot on the sofa for the wine bottle Anders was wielding.

"Ah, Fawn and his huge—" Isabela crawled to Fenris and nestled her head on his knee, smirking up at him, "—sword!" Isabela hooted in laughter again and Anders with Fenris exchanged a fed up glance about her drunken joy. Once she mentioned the Hero of Fereldan, Samael wondered for a second where Fawn was. Then he sighed, realizing he should finally go out off his hideout, but he simply couldn't. He ended up pounding softly on the wall with his head, then he collapsed down on the floor, convincing himself, he would go talk to them in the next minute. All right, maybe in a half an hour. A silhouette creeping to him through the shadows in the room he was hiding in halted just above him, motionless, simply staring at him. Samael pulled himself up, vigilant, not taking the eyes of the stranger, but he was too sleepy, too aching to respond at the stranger's sudden movement, since he whirled Hawke around and pressed him onto the wall. All this without a sound.

"Please don't tell me you've been hiding in this alcove for the whole week," Fawn snaked the arm playfully around Hawke, standing behind him and whispering those words right into Samael's ear.

"How's she?" Samael breathed out a question about the only thing that mattered to him now.

"Rummaging through Kirkwall, threatening everyone who resists talking to her about you, not eating, avoiding me and my proposals to have wild, wild sex…" Fawn tightened his grasp at Hawke when he realized Samael was trying to wriggle out of the elf's embrace to face him. "Oh, let me finish, Hawke," he sneered, tracing the assassin's still weakened body with the other hand. "Two days after your disappearance she tracked down two humans who saw you going through Lowtown the night you've vanished. I think it's appropriate to remark she caused them life-threatening wounds when she was done with them. And do you want to know what she did yesterday?" Fawn shook roughly the limp rogue, who was suffering in silence now. "She killed somebody, Hawke. She killed a being in a blind rage, because he had nothing useful to tell her about you. That silly young human worm was guilty in her eyes since he saw you leaving the estate, but couldn't tell her which way you took."

With an unexpected move Samael broke Fawn's hold, unable to bear his venomous words anymore, and whirled around to face him, panting and staring at him in horror. Fawn slowly shook his head, watching the assassin. "I could never treat her the way you do, Samael." With these words Fawn slowly walked away right into the main hall.

"Going out for a walk," Fawn glanced at Bodahn, channeling this bored remark strictly to him and ignoring the rest of them. Samael thought, of course, he was about to tell them about him, but Fawn just didn't seem to care. Not at all.

Samael raised his trembling hands in front of his face, observing them until they stopped shaking, then he came out of his hiding place and stepped forward. He halted in the door frame with his arms folded on chest, leaning on it in nonchalance, as his eyes quickly glanced around the dim, now silent hall.

Isabela was the first to notice him, but she considered him just a booze hallucination no doubt, since she poked Fenris' leg, demanding his attention. The elf just hissed some juicy Tevinter curse, shooing her away, so she punched the leg instead.

"What!" Fenris snapped at her, his lyrium tattoos flashing briefly.

"Tell me, sweet ass, do you see anybody standing over there?" Isabela squinted at Hawke again, rubbing her eyes. Fenris sighed and turned in the pointed direction and his eyes widened, since Samael just stood there with an awkward smile on his face, like nothing had happened at all.

"Hawke…?" Fenris rasped in disbelief after a moment and all heads in the hall swiveled towards Samael. Hawke was convinced things couldn't possibly get any worse than that, but Fenris finished him off since he bolted out of the mansion, glowing like a bloody beacon, while Merrill watched him with shock and the tears standing in her eyes, only to jump off her seat a second later, slap Samael with all her might and headed for the bedroom, sobbing. Samael remained sitting on the clean cold floor, where he had tumbled down; groping his jaw thoughtfully, when he noticed Aveline was rushing to him.

"Please don't hit me!" Samael raised his arms in defense, feeling still weak and now a bit dizzy after Merrill's merciless punch, not that he didn't deserve that. The Captain pulled him up on his feet into a tight hug, murmuring "Thank the Maker" into his ear.

"Uhm, woman, you seem glad to see me…" Samael sneered at her when she let go of him.

"What are you waiting for?" Aveline found her repose, properly scolding him again. "Go after her! You have no idea what she's been through this week." Hawke nodded, his eyes drawn upstairs, but he headed for the front door instead. He didn't care they all were yelling at him that he took the wrong direction. The only thing he had in his mind was Fenris.

He hesitated once he was outside though, then he started running towards the Fenris' mansion, clenching the pulsing wound on his chest. The pierced thigh was protesting against this headlong dash, but he knew he had to do something and he had to do it right now.

"Fenris!" he panted in despair when he had glimpsed the lyrium smudge disappearing around the corner. He continued in running, more like limping now, and what was his surprise when he bumped right into the lyrium warrior a second later.

"Anything you'd like to tell me, you traitor?" Fenris hissed at him, steadying him, but Samael wished he wouldn't have done that, since Fenris simply jabbed mercilessly his sharp gloves into his skin.

"Traitor, is it? And what about you, elf?" Samael countered with a venomous shouting. "Who ceased reading my damned messages or answering the damned door when I knock on it? And the answer is - Messere Let's-Piss-on-the-Chantry-door!" Samael grimaced at him, wriggling wildly out of his grasp. Everything futile, since Fenris held him with his vice-like hands in check.

"Don't you dare asking some explanation from me, you hypocrite! You were the one who had walked away from me!" Clearly Fenris was out of control, since normally he wouldn't let something that honest out of his mouth. "You were the one who had come to me just when you needed something including a quick fuck when you felt like it!" Fenris shook Samael violently, like only this way he could see the elf's pain. "And you were the one who took into his head to disappear for a week, probably watching us in laughter how we were searching for you!"

"I didn't walk away from you, you're being ridiculous, Fenris! Yeah, I might have come to your mansion less frequently and it was just because, let me think, that I was swamped with work and hunted by the Coterie, that's it!" Samael managed to break the hold finally, but Fenris wasn't done with him by a long shot. He intended to slap the silly assassin, but somehow his hand refused to do that, so his desperate attempt to hurt Hawke ended up with Fenris' arm wheezing through the air and the glove tips slashing through the assassin's chest. Samael howled and judging by that shooting pain, Fenris just managed to reopen his wound caused by the bolt, which was confirmed when Samael felt the tiny streams of hot blood on his cold skin. The body refused to bear such pain anymore and betrayed him, so Hawke tumbled down, clenching the teeth and wishing he to be dead rather than to be this humiliated.

Fenris stopped his rampage at once, watching the panting assassin and the wound he had caused with widened eyes and slightly open mouth. He glanced at the Hawke's blood dripping of his glove like he had no idea how it got stuck there.

"Hawke…" Fenris took a hesitant step towards the assassin.

"Leave me alone, Fenris!" Samael shot a glare at him, daring him to touch him.

"Samael, I didn't mean to—" he reached for Hawke, but Samael stroke the hand away, scratching his forearm on the glove.

"Shut the fuck up, Fenris, and at least admit it felt fucking good. Now do us both a favor and scram!" Samael jabbed his fiery eyes into the speechless elf. He slowly crawled up the wall and started stumbling away from the elf, leaving a blood trail on the wall he was leaning on.

Samael's wish to creep into a hole and die there was marred though, when Fenris grabbed him and pinned him against the wall, ignoring the desperate gasp of pain which lingered on the assassin's lips.

"Fenris, what do you think you're d—" Samael's tired voice died away once the elf yanked his one arm above his head, demanding silence and obedience with an annihilating gaze. Fenris' other gloved palm started climbing up the assassin's body, making sure it chafed the chest wound briefly before it was clasped around Hawke's throat. Samael tried once more breaking the lyrium cage he was held in, but Fenris' warm lips on his own persuaded him ridiculously swiftly to stop fighting. There was no shyness or hesitation in the elf's behavior; not at all. No request for permission. He simply took the kiss from Samael, without futile questions, hungrily and violently, like there would be no tomorrow.

Fenris' hand which was squeezing Hawke's wrist above his head became loose and Samael used this moment to throw the elf's gauntlet away, let his hand slide lower a bit, so their palms were lazily touching each other, before they decided to clench one another into a tight fist, glowing in a blue dazzling lyrium light.

Fenris was the one who wrenched his mouth away from Samael's with a frustrated groan, brushing his forehead, and only now he realized Hawke was shivering with far more than the pain. Fenris staggered three steps away from the Hawke leaning on the wall, watching him in pure spurn like this was all Samael's fault.

"I curse the day we've met, Samael…" Fenris whispered with his head hanging, then he slowly turned around and stomped away.

"I don't…" Hawke shook his head mildly and glanced around if there was no hole indeed he could hide in, cry in or die in. All he spotted was just Fenris' abandoned glove. He let himself collapse down slowly along the wall, reaching for the glove and lapsing into the oblivion.


	19. Chapter 19

"Not you again!" Samael groaned when he woke up finally and the first thing he saw was Ichabod's face.

"The grim reaper has been sniffing around you, Hawke, but I shooed him away, don't worry," Ichabod whispered and leaned so close Samael could smell an odd combination of herbs and liquor. He thought he must have fallen asleep right after the argument with Fenris, but now he was thinking about the encounter in Lowtown – when he got shot and was saved by this creep.

"Ichabod… you… saved me." Hawke squeezed gently Bane's forearm, demanding an explanation, confirmation, anything regarding that event.

"I did not!" Ichabod snorted, fidgeting.

"Yes, you did!" Samael tightened his grasp on the other's arm.

"I certainly did not!" Ichabod wriggled out of Hawke's grip, making a few cautious steps backwards. "And I wasn't strolling through Lowtown near the steps to the docks eight nights ago either," he peeped, letting Hawke know what he had done precisely the night Samael was ambushed and injured. Hawke watched his savior, recalling the overwhelming abilities of the man, shadow, avenger, who had rescued him that night.

"Thank you," Samael had no other answer for Ichabod's denial.

"You're welcome. What exactly are you thankful for?" Ichabod squawked and started tittering just to himself.

"For saving my life, damn it!" Samael was getting furious.

"I didn't do it." Ichabod insisted. "But those were some serious wounds you had on your body. All that blood, your blood…" his thoughtful voice sounded hollow and once again Ichabod Bane looked very sane suddenly.

"Why not let me simply thank you and get over it?" Samael yelled now.

"By the Stone, Ichabod, leave him be," Varric peered at them from the other room, smirking broadly at Hawke, when he saw Samael had really woken up finally. Hawke tried to move cautiously his limbs and he grinned when he felt nothing but muscles impatient to get off the bed and his stomach rumbled like it would devour a whole griffon if possible.

"Fawn and Ichabod brought you here, Hawke," the dwarf stalked to the bed, frowning a bit now. "Apparently they found you sleeping on the street and I just used the word 'sleeping' since I didn't want to say you were wallowing there passed out, you idiot!" Varric punched Hawke's shoulder. "Anders will no doubt chide you properly, because he said your body was utterly exhausted." Varric's voice lowered suddenly after these words, like he was hesitant about what he intended to say next. "You… need to look after yourself better, Samael," Varric scratched his chest hair, staring at his boots.

"Varric?" Samael reached for the dwarf, his quite question lingering in the air. Hawke raised both eyebrows when the dwarf sobbed, wiped his face with the sleeve and turned to him with a strained smile on his broad face.

"Remember that Hein boy? You've spared his life in Lowtown when we encountered that Chantry sister with cold eyes." Varric coughed and popped out the question. Anything but the uncomfortable silence.

"Yes, I remember him," Samael replied. "Please don't tell me he's going after me as well from some unknown ridiculous reason," he sighed and pulled on the boots.

"Actually he's currently skittering around Kirkwall, shouting the story of you sparing his life in all four directions. He's depicting you as something between a plebeian hero and a pagan god of mercy and love," Varric laughed and flung Hawke's jerkin at him.

"Huh, look at that…" Samael droned, his head trapped in the linen under tunic. "Samael Hawke, secret philanthropist and life savior. That's new I guess." Samael fastened the jerkin on his torso and groped his empty belt, when he realized he had no weapon yet. "Where is Merrill?" he shot a quick question at Varric and stopped searching for his katana.

"Ah, she was here for several hours, then an important matter forced her to return to your estate," Varric shrugged, but he was able to see and understand Hawke's mute question. "Yes, she's still mad at you, you rascal, but I'm sure she'll come around once you apologize." Varric laughed after his words, shaking his head, then started pushing Ichabod out of the room, since Hawke was clearly itching to get home.

Once Samael joined them at the front room, the assassin bowed to the peculiar landlord since Ichabod allowed him to be here without demanding payment, however strange his behavior was. When Hawke straightened up again, Varric opened the door in the meantime, and the two of them were ready to leave, but Samael's sleeve was caught suddenly by Ichabod as he yanked the rogue nearer.

"Stay away from the elf," Ichabod whispered with his empty eyes wide open, nodding while saying the warning.

"Hum… What elf?" Samael's eyes narrowed as he started contemplating which elf was on Ichabod's mind. The only elves near to him were Merrill, Fawn and Fenris after all.

"The one with the boobs," Ichabod sneered, pushed the assassin gaping at him in disbelief out of his house, and slammed the door close.

oOo

"A message for you, Messere!" The lad plucked shyly Hawke's sleeve, slipping the small vellum into Samael's hand. It looked like it was ripped off in haste and as much as Samael was eager to get home; he stopped and read the message on the spot.

"Hawke, what is it?" Varric asked, alarmed, when Samael's face turned into a bloodless mask.

"I need to get home. Now!" Hawke crumpled the message from Aveline, tossed it at the dwarf and started running. "There's a fire—"

"Oh, shit, Hawke, don't tell me your estate has burnt to the ground too…" Varric grunted, scooting right behind the assassin. "Where's the fire?" he poked Hawke impatiently when no answer came.

"Right beneath my ass!" Samael yelled back at him, sprinting through the morning Lowtown.

oOo

Samael kicked the front door open and one glance around the main hall was sufficient for learning the situation. Bodahn was cowering with Sandal in the corner, covering the young dwarf's eyes. Isabela along with Fawn and Charon were crouching above the big box which was positioned right in the middle of the chamber and Merrill was shedding tears on the sofa, curled up there into a hopeless bundle.

Samael marched to the pirate queen and the arcane warrior, but his eyes were locked at the box. The box full of the heads of all of the urchins he had ever used to deliver his messages or who had ever helped him in any possible way. Judging by their petrified expressions, bulging eyes, and slashed skin, their last moments before the death were full of suffering and pain.

"They're… c-coming for m-me!" Merrill stumbled over to her assassin, squealing and choking on her own words. Samael didn't think twice before he pulled her into a brief, but passionate kiss, wiping the tears off her face roughly.

"Nobody is going to take you away from me…" Hawke growled, his mind frantically searching for a way out of this. Varric in the meantime read the message as well and now his and Samael's eyes clashed in a brief storm of thoughts.

"Hawke, the Guards and the Templars are probably in the estate already…" Varric breathed out, and it seemed the dwarf was at the edge of his control.

"Bodahn!" Samael's voice slashed the air as he marched to the old dwarf.

"Yes, M-Messere?" Bodahn stood up valiantly although he was quivering without control.

"Take the box, burn it all in my laboratory in the huge stove. There's always fire. Take Sandal to help you carry the box!" Samael ordered, raking through his hair in despair. "Bela!" he turned to the fellow rogue, his eyes pleading with her to cooperate without needless words.

"My bedroom, the dresser in there, the bottom drawer. Burn all the parchments you find there in the fireplace." Samael gestured upstairs wildly. "Go, damn it!" he shouted, when the freaked out Isabela didn't move immediately.

"What about me?" Varric threw his arms up, fretting and pacing around, stumbling over Charon.

"Light up a cigar, sit in the armchair and try to hold them here for as long as possible," Samael hissed at him, glancing at the front door again, since the Guards had started breaking in.

"Merrill, Fawn, come with me," Samael turned to them, whispering since a triple pound on the front door reminded them they were all about to be arrested for having the body parts of missing boys in the house and if that wasn't good enough, Meredith would have Hawke's head anyway for harboring a blood mage and yet another apostate.

Samael grabbed Merrill and slipped along with Fawn into his mother's former quarters, heading without hesitation to the huge wardrobe. He yanked the heavy wardrobe wings open and his hair waved since there was a chilly draft coming from the concealed escape route.

"Look after her!" Samael pierced Fawn with his eyes before he pushed him into the hiding place. Merrill was simply gulping the tears, nodding, when Samael told her to be quiet in there and wait for him. Once he placed the back panel into the wardrobe again and closed the wings inaudibly, he realized he was now panting and his heart racing.

Apparently no rest for the wicked since the noise in the main hall let him know his estate was swarming with the Templars and Guards right now, so Hawke dusted off his armor, took a deep breath and crept out of the room. He spotted Isabela crouching behind the balustrade and her smirk let him know she had indeed burnt the documents which were incriminating to Hawke and his business partners. The two of them bowed to each other and straightened up slowly, so they could be seen by the intruders.

"What a pleasant surprise…" Samael started slowly descending the staircase, the venom dripping off his words.

"Based on anonymous tips we're looking here for the missing young men, and you also face the accusation of harboring two apostates." Aveline stomped to Hawke, her voice indifferent and her expression impenetrable.

"Where are they?" she sizzled into Samael's ear when she made sure her men or the Templars wouldn't hear her. Hawke was about to breath out a proper reply, when a Templar approached them, clearly not intending letting Hawke out of his sight. Samael saw he needed to improvise and his only hope was that Aveline would understand his encrypted answer for her question.

"But this is a scandal!" Hawke threw his arms in the air, making sure his voice would sound exquisitely high-pitched and snobbish. "I'll have your **heads** by tomorrow morning, you morons! Your mothers will have to scrape what would be left of you, put it in a **box** and store it in the **basement**, you disgusting toads!" Samael glanced at Aveline, hoping she had understood the hints about where her men shouldn't be looking for the urchins right now. Encouraged by her almost imperceptible wink, Samael continued in his outburst.

"There are no mages, no slaves, no **elves**, no nothing here!" Samael underlined the important word with punching the nearest Guardsman. "Now get out of my property, before I stuff you all into the nearest **wardrobe** and not even the Grand Cleric with the Maker at her side will sort you out once I'm done with you! Damn you all! What would my **mother** say to this preposterous ambush?" Samael accompanied his dramatic effusion with a brief glance upstairs, leaving a perfect clue for Aveline for where he had stashed the elves.

Satisfied with the outcome, Samael strolled to the dwarf who was lounging in the armchair and smoking hedonistically there and he keeled over next to him, hiding his head in palms like he was utterly distraught over the Templars and Guards crawling throughout his estate. He smiled though when he spotted Bodahn grinning at him, patting his son's shoulder indicating that their task was finished.

After a half an hour the Guards Captain and high-ranked Templar apologized for the intrusion, called off their dogs and left the mansion. Varric went immediately to the nearest cabinet and gulped down half of the Antivan whiskey he found there, his forehead sweaty and the hands trembling.

Samael dashed back to the wardrobe, almost broke the wings when he opened it and tossed away the panel hiding the hidden passage. Fawn was crouching right behind it with Merrill hidden in his arms, both elves intertwined and shivering. For the first few seconds Hawke had no clue what should he say or do, since Merrill didn't move and there was pure fear mirroring in the proud elven warrior's face. Samael reached for Merrill, whispering soothing sounds into her ear, but he was grateful when Isabela took her from him, nodding at him like she would take care of the girl.

"Fawn…?" Samael whispered into the tunnel when the other elf stayed still and stolid. "Fawn, they are all gone." Samael reached his arm towards the elf, but he just glanced at it and did nothing. When Hawke turned away to leave Mahariel alone, his smooth voice stopped him.

"It never ends, is it..." Fawn granted the assassin a long gaze, full of distant sorrow regarding the life time of being hunted for what he was.

"They were pushed by Morrell, Fawn. I doubt Meredith ordered this raid and thanks to Aveline, we were warned just in time," Samael shrugged and his face darkened when he realized what had Morrell done – an attack at Isabela and Fawn at the Blooming Rose, murders of the innocent young urchins which Raen intended to pin at Hawke, attempt to take Merrill away from him and lock her in the Gallows… But did Raen send those thugs after Samael the night he had a meeting with the Arishok? They did try to kill him no doubt, and Morrell clearly intended to finish Hawke off himself, so this didn't look like a Coterie job. So who was behind it? And when Ichabod saved his life there, why he just dragged him near the Qunari compound and not home? Huh, again, many questions without proper answers.

Fawn accepted the offered hand this time to help him with crawling out of the tunnel and once they both stood alone in the spacious chamber, there was an awkward silence between them. Hawke watched the elf as he sauntered to the nearest table and started fingering small pretty things on it. When he lifted up the old wooden music box painted with fading colors, Samael slowly stalked to him, taking the box from the elf and opening it slowly. The old mechanism inside of the box stirred and the sweet melancholic lullaby filled the room. Samael stared in rapture at the box, forgetting for a moment he wasn't alone, then he closed the music box again, tracing the top of it with his finger.

"Who is Leandra Amell?" Fawn asked a simple question about the name he spotted carved inside of the box. Hawke twitched since it was unwritten rule inside of his estate not to say out loud the names of Samael's family from the obvious reason – they were all dead.

"She was… my mother." Samael looked up at the elf, then his gaze went back to the music box as he carefully set it back on the table in a reverent silence. Oddly enough Fawn had no heart to ask where Samael's mother was since the answer was written across the assassin's expressive face. Hawke coughed in uneasiness after a moment, glancing at the elf who was obviously still shaken to his very marrow. "Drink perhaps?" Hawke asked while looking out of the window.

"Hit me," Fawn nodded in agreement and headed for the door without looking at Samael.

oOo

Samael stood in front of the huge canvas picturing the Grand Cathedral in the Val Royeaux, painted by the far-famed Orlesian artist. He cocked his head while admiring the radiant colors and the grandeur of this edifice, although he would rather buy all daggers and swords in Kirkwall than this one ridiculously overpriced painting. He was genuinely caught off guard when the Viscount approached him from behind, intending to explain no doubt why he had summoned Hawke to the Keep.

"I see you are not such brute and infamous mercenary like everybody keeps telling me," the Viscount remarked, glancing at the Cathedral as well.

"Ah, I have something like this hanging all around my estate," Samael sneered in return, blinking at Merrill. "But usually with men fishing," he added and laughed shortly. The Viscount resisted rolling his eyes and gestured towards the armchairs by the table. Once seated, Dumar stapled his fingers, observing the silent Hawke with penetrating gaze.

"I heard the whispers you've been missing, Serah Hawke. There were Chantry sisters clucking about it, the Guards, the nobles, the Templars, everybody talking over and over how you've disappeared." Dumar fell silent like he expected some explanation and when none came, he scowled. "All right, keep it to yourself, but I need to ask that the ridiculous endless feud between the Morrells and you come to an end." Dumar pierced Hawke through with his bright eyes, watching him and expecting some more or less precipitous reaction.

"In fact I intend to confront him tonight, Dumar. Don't you worry…" Samael's gaze started roaming around the room, and there was an ugly grin on his lips as he reminisced about the dead lads again.

"Just be gentlemen and take your pitiful squabble someplace remote and without witnesses," the Viscount sighed when he reorganized the pile of papers in front of him. Samael bit his tongue to keep the witty remark just for himself regarding this matter. "Any news with the Qunari?" Dumar rubbed his temples, closing the tired eyes for a second.

"I was able to learn what keeps them here." Samael was suddenly very quiet since this one sentence felt like betraying the Arishok.

"And?" Dumar's eyes widened and he punched the table when Hawke looked like he wouldn't continue.

"The Arishok is searching for the sacred book of his people which was stolen from them," he managed to pop out finally, but he wasn't able to look straight into the blue eyes in front of him. "I know nothing else," Samael grunted before the Viscount had a chance to reply.

"It's pure madness!" the Viscount exclaimed finally, jumping up off his chair and starting pacing around his office. "Meredith from left, Orsino from right, Elthina has slithered into her precious holy hole with a clear intention to never crawl out, the Chantry zealots are prowling the city as they please and I have no idea with what they will come up next to stir up even more hatred against the heathen, horn-headed outlanders, which by the way I can't afford to get upset, because they would probably attempt to convert us all to their precious Qun!"

Samael frowned from the unknown reasons after the Viscount's insults for the Qunari, and his hand slipped down and clasped loosely the katana hilt. Luckily for him, Dumar didn't seem to notice since he was lost deep in his whining.

"The stepping-down seems just more and more appealing…" Dumar grumbled just to himself while Samael was watching his outburst in a cold demeanor. They both glanced at the door when an unfamiliar noise from the main hall reached them. The Viscount got few sympathies from Hawke since Dumar crept to his cabinet and pulled out a shiny sword which hadn't been obviously tainted by the blood or a battle yet.

"HAAAAWKE!" a single word echoed under the mosaic dome of the Viscount's Keep.

Samael slowly stood up, his eyes hypnotizing the closed door leading to the main hall.

"Raen…" Samael breathed out, closing the eyes, like he had been expecting this hour with both stifling anxiety and liberating relief.

"Hawke! Show yourself!" the voice cried out once more and this time Samael caught that half-mad undertone in that desperate voice calling for him, calling for vengeance which couldn't raise Haydée from her grave anyway.

Followed by the Viscount who was gaping at Hawke in awe, Samael opened the door and started descending the staircase, his face dim, his pace steady and his mind oddly in peace of the quickly approaching end. He hadn't realized that Merrill, Varric and Fawn were right behind him until Merrill's petite hand stroked his back in a brief tender gesture like he hadn't been alone in this and neither he was alone now.

"Samael Hawke…" Raen rasped once he spotted the assassin strolling without hesitation towards him. Samael searched Morrell's haggard face, realizing how the gangly man had grown thinner since he saw him the last time. A brief glance around the vast entrance hall told Samael that the most of the Guards were held hostage by Morrell's men; the nobles and others had created a loose circle around them and his companions stood right by his side, silent, cold and prepared to fight.

"I promised I would come for you, Hawke." Raen spoke finally, then paused like everything had been said with this one sentence. Samael managed to knock Morrell off the balance when he responded with a deep graceful bow like he indeed intended to honour the promise and… rip Raen's heart out, since apparently there was no peaceful way to settle this.

"He who seeks vengeance should dig up two graves, Raen." Samael approached the pale rival, orbiting around him, his voice casual, like nothing bad had happened between them. With an imperceptible move Samael leaned to Raen's ear, whispering "I did not kill Haydée, Raen." Morrell's answer was clear since he drew the long sword, stalked a few steps away from Hawke and halted right behind Merrill. He drew aside dark hair on her slender neck, inhaling deeply of her scent, challenging Hawke to interfere and give him the reason to take her from him just like he was convinced that Hawke had taken Haydée from Raen. Samael remained oddly calm, but not without difficulty since Merrill's eyes had twice their size and she started visibly shaking.

"Just you and me, Raen." Samael slowly approached them, his palms turned to Morrell in submission. "That's how you want it, right? That's how you've been picturing it the whole time since your Haydée_... dropped... dead_." Oh yes, Samael knew very well how to manipulate with people just with the words and Raen had just confirmed it when his face turned red and he let go of Merril, assuming a fighting stance, setting the jaw after Samael had said his sister's name out loud. Hawke wasn't done questioning him though. "Why this charade, Morrell?" he asked loudly this time, gesturing around them at the audience.

"They are all bound to see what I'm going to do with you and _why_!" Raen shrieked the last words, his eyes blazing with intransigent flames.

"Raen, Raen, Raen…" Samael shook his head and let it hang.

"Fight me, Hawke! Fight me and let me get what I've craved since the night you took away from me the most precious thing I've ever had!" Raen's desperate voice once more thundered in the chamber. Samael found himself unable to reply, since his throat was constricted when Haydée's chiseled face, her always derisive voice and her witty comments filled him once more. Hawke replied in the only possible way – he slowly unsheathed the katana and let his eyes sliding along the marvelous blade of Seheron catching the light of chandeliers above them.

Fawn with Varric dragged Merrill away of the opponents as they raised their weapons and bowed to each other in sign that their combat to the death had just started.

oOo

"Just die already!" Raen roared, crazed, frustrated and far beyond the point of self-preservation. The silent combat was continuing just like Samael had predicted – they were both circling around each other, waiting for the other one to attack first and thus put himself in danger. They were both extremely skilled and gifted, with many scars on their bodies which had served them well since these scars chiseled them both into capable warriors and dexterous assassins.

When their blades finally met, striking sparkles and slashing the air with ominous wheezing, the whole audience spontaneously gasped, howled and sighed. Samael didn't know nor care if they were at his side; all he knew was that Raen Morrell needed to die here by his hand. Of course there was an option that Samael would be the one participating in that ridiculous dying part, but he would rather see himself leaving the Keep on his own feet.

The fighting style Raen Morrell possessed was a strange combination of old-fashioned, gallant knighthood with cultivated manners and vicious, most unexpected sideswipes, usually ending with a serious injury. Samael adjusted quickly to Raen's style and for a while he just parried the speeding up attack, learning the way Raen fought and how he could beat him. But as the combat continued and none of them was able to wound the rival yet, Samael started losing control after all. He made several very daring strikes with his katana flashing in his hand, but he ended up frustrated even more when Raen came out of it with just a ripped sleeve and surface cut on his left arm. They clashed again right in the middle of their fighting space, their blades crossed as they both tried to knock the other one backwards.

"You just won't do me a favor and die, will you, Hawke…" Raen growled and bared his teeth at Samael.

"I… really… don't… want… to kill you… you lunatic!" Samael gasped back, shifting, ducking under Raen's blade and punching Morrell's back with the flat blade. Raen stumbled away from him, whirling around and gaping at Hawke like he couldn't believe he just could have cut him down, but he didn't.

"Too bad, because then I'll cut you in half, burn you into ashes and sprinkle my sister's grave with it!" Raen roared in frenzy and launched forward with such a vigour Hawke had no time to react with some scorching comment right away.

"My, my, Raen. You really have it all thought through, don't you…" Samael grinned after a moment when he started pushing his warped rival backwards with a fierce counterattack. Since Raen danced back and dodged the katana without difficulties, Hawke from the unknown reasons reminisced about the rules of fight his father had taught him back when Samael was just a little lad.

_The rule number one – never underestimate your opponent. Ah, don't worry, father, you obviously taught me and beat me well enough, because I remember perfectly our every damned lesson. Regarding that underrating part – yeah, no need to be afraid of that either since my lovely rival just almost cut my head off with one of his fluid, unexpected, unbeatable strikes._

A strand of black hair whirled through the air before it fell down on the cobblestone. Fortunately for Samael, that was all that was lying on the floor after Raen's cunning attack. Samael stood still after this close call, challenging Morrell once more to attack first. Raen started orbiting around him with cat-like steps, so Samael lashed out at him without warning to let him know he was done playing games.

"Our little boy has finally grown into a man…" Raen sneered, although he realized how close the katana was to his throat a few seconds ago. "Tell me, Hawke, how it feels to know that you were the one who sent all your family members into their graves? Of course, only if your cupidity allowed you to pay for the funerals. Or did you dig up the graves yourself with your own bare hands to save money for whores and liquor?" Raen guffawed, his eyes flashing with predator highlights. "Have you prepared yet a new grave for that lovely apostate of yours? I wonder for how long she's gonna last…" Raen's mocking was interrupted when Hawke roared in anger and replied with an injudicious counterattack.

The second rule crossed Samael's mind too late – if you allow the opponent to infuriate you and knock you off the balance with words, you're on half of the way to a loss. Raen's sword flashed past Hawke, leaving a long, burning, thin cut on his right arm. The wounded arm managed somehow to pass the katana into Hawke's left hand before it collapsed loosely along his body, the blood oozing out of the injury and dripping off the tips of Samael's fingers onto the cold stone. Raen was now swinging his blade, admiring its crimson edge and he looked properly pleased with his achievement. Oddly enough, Samael managed somehow to empty his mind when he had glimpsed Merrill's pale face among the watchers.

_The third rule – if possible, lead the opponent far from the possible weapons. Huh, that's not gonna happen since Morrell's men will simply hand him their weapons if I manage to disarm him. Or the weapons hanging on the walls here…Bah, what a silly rule to follow._

Samael glanced around the entrance hall, blocking the pain in his arm, then he cocked the head, observing the silent Morrell with perverse curiosity and sardonic grin on his lips.

"What are you smiling about?" Raen asked smoothly, far too sure about his soon victory.

"Oh, I just recalled the night I've spent with your sister in the brothel," Hawke shrugged, his weapon en garde, expecting Raen's reaction. Morrell fell silent, his face turning into a sinister mask, but Hawke's words clearly aimed well. That one breathless second was enough for Samael to jump forward and hit Raen's solar plexus with the katana hilt. Raen gasped for the air, staggering backwards and his sword clanged on the cobblestone. Samael started creeping forward and he was the one grinning now. Just as he expected, Raen stumbled to his nearest minion and ripped the greatsword off his back, turning to Hawke again. Samael halted, wildly contemplating how the hell he was supposed to fight that awfully long and broad sword with his own svelte katana.

"Surprise, surprise, Hawke…" Raen whispered and Samael realized in distress that Raen didn't seem to be tired whatsoever. Unlike him. Hawke saw now clearly that either he would end this combat now or he would be the one lying in a pool of blood very soon. Mustering all his remaining strength and courage, Samael waited for Raen's monumental backswing, ducked, kicked Raen straight into his torso again and chopped Raen's sword into two pieces with his katana twelve inches far from Morrell's hands. The heavy blade rattled on the stone and nobody would be able to say which one of the rivals looked more astonished – Raen, because he was now holding just the stub of his weapon, or Samael, because he actually managed to pull through such a stunt just with his katana.

"It will hurt the next time, Raen…" Samael warned Morrell and gave him a patronizing look; a tiny hope still remained somewhere in his mind that he wouldn't have to kill Morrell after all. Raen himself looked calm now as he lowered his destroyed weapon. In the next second Samael made the biggest mistake in his life since he lowered the katana as well, only to be rewarded with what was left of Raen's sword stuck in his belly. Samael looked down, realizing his hand clenching the wound was covered in blood and he watched in slow pictures as the katana fell off his hand. Hawke fell on the knees, aware of every breath he took as he looked up at his vanquisher who stood above him with a beatific smile on his face.

_So… I wonder what would Bodahn make for dinner tonight…Perhaps Morrell was right and I should have dug up a grave for myself. Now I am almost cut in a half, just waiting for an inevitable end. I wonder what it's like after a person dies. Will I linger here or shall I teach dirty ditties to Andraste or something?_

Samael Hawke blinked at Raen, like he was waiting for the death blow, ready and calm. Then he noticed an odd thing – the blood stopped rushing out of his deep wound and suddenly it didn't feel as badly as it looked. Morrell snatched the new sword in the meantime, approaching Hawke to indulge his desire for revenge, but he halted when Samael grasped the katana again, hesitant at first, then he rose from his little blood pool, feeling his body tingling and his blood rushing through the veins in an insane pace.

"What… How…" Raen watched Hawke with his eyes widened and just for a second he would swear Hawke's blazing amber eyes turned into deep red clefts. It was just a matter of several seconds to disarm the amazed Morrell.

"Yield to me!" Samael hissed at Raen and the Coterie leader had no other response than staring at the proud assassin who looked beautiful as much as frightening in his victory.

"Kneel to me!" Samael ordered him again and Raen indeed dropped to his knees and he was no longer the master of his own thoughts and deeds.

_The fourth rule – never mock and kill the defeated rival for it would become a petty murder. Oh, father… How it comes it's so difficult to plunge the sword into a being, and even more hard to let him live since I know Raen won't leave me alone._

"Raen, don't…" Hawke pleaded with him, when he saw him slowly standing up again, unsheathing the short dagger as he jabbed his mad eyes into Hawke.

"For you, sister," Raen whispered and threw himself forward in a suicidal attack. The first urge Samael had was just to cut Raen's silly head off, but somehow his hand holding the katana resisted to do that – it had clearly other plans with what to do to Morrell. The katana plunged into Raen's body on the spot between his shoulder and neck, slashing across the chest and re-appeared at Raen's side, properly blood-stained and accompanied with an awful creaking of the breaking ribs. Hawke's arm was prickling since he put all his might into this one last sweep as the fifth and last rule was echoing in his head.

_Murdering a person is sometimes better than to be considered stupid._

And thus Raen Morrell had died finally when he tumbled down in two pieces – a skewed, one-armed bust and a pointed 'something' which looked like a lightning struck human tree.

For Samael it was like somebody had turned the sounds on, since the audience started hailing to him, applauding and patting each other's shoulders like it was them indeed who had defeated the villain.

"What are you clapping about?" Hawke's desperate voice resonated in the hall. "A good person just died here—" Samael's voice cracked when he collapsed down to his knees, gazing at the Raen's corpse and the still growing blood pool which was about to reach him. Varric made his way through the cheery crowd, stomping on the feet of those who resisted moving out of his way.

"By my ancestors, Hawke…" he sighed, pulling the limp assassin up gently and leading him to the Merrill and Fawn. The nobles and Guards were parting in front of them and Raen's men fled the Keep without looking back.

"Samael!" Fawn grasped his arm in urgency. "I'm… I'm so sorry. I know I was supposed to look after her, but…" A cold hand squeezed Samael's already tensed mind, when his eyes found the pale Merrill leaning on the wall, attempting to smile at him and hide the wound on her belly, hidden beneath the blood-soaked armor. Samael suddenly understood; the injury he had sustained was far too serious to walk away from, yet he got up and continued in combat like it was just an innocent surface cut.

"Ma vhenan…" Merrill gave him a fading smile, collapsing into his arms when she realized there was no point in hiding the injury. The knife she used for a blood ritual slipped out of her hand.

"What have you done, Merrill?" the assassin whispered into her ear, closing the eyes like he couldn't bear to see what she had done because of him. Again. She must have somehow transferred the wound Samael had into herself, her own body, channeling her strength and life essence into Hawke's withering body in return. This way, she allowed him to keep fighting.

"I'll take her to Anders, Samael," Fawn's bloodless face appeared right next to him and Samael saw the reason here since he was exhausted after the fight and he wouldn't be able to carry her there right now.

"Hurry. Please, hurry, Fawn. I'll meet you there," Hawke breathed out and pushed Merrill into her fellow elf's arms. Samael's eyes then met with the Viscount's gaze before he turned around and stomped into his office along with the Seneschal Bran.

"Please tell me I'm allowed to write this down, Hawke," Varric managed to crack a joke to cheer up the broody Hawke.

"No." Samael droned in reply, sheathing the katana and leaving the Keep without looking at the corpse of his rival. He was too afraid the lifeless face would gape at him just like Haydée did even in her death.

oOo

When Hawke slipped into the Swaying Boar inn, his famous and conspicuous katana was left home this time. He joined the dwarf who had been waiting for him there. They kept drinking as companions in silence for an hour, but Varric knew Samael wouldn't have asked him to meet him here if he didn't want to talk.

"So, Corff is preparing the grand opening of his shiny new Hanged Man." Varric threw in a casual comment.

"Glad to hear that," Samael replied in the same tone and sipped the ale.

"He is going to invite you and he wants to open the inn just on your birthday, Hawke," Varric smirked this time, expecting an annoyed reply.

"I wonder where he could have possibly learned when I was born?" Hawke sizzled a sardonic comment through the teeth, staring into his mug. "Ah, don't tell me," he glanced at Varric with a crooked grin. "He knows from one ugly, half-tall, garrulous gasbag, who can't hold his prying tongue behind the teeth just for once."

"Your charms are overwhelming tonight, Hawke…" Varric laughed, glancing around if a little surprise for Samael had arrived or not.

"I'm very worried, Varric." Samael shot an unexpected choked statement at the dwarf who fell silent. "This bond I have with Merrill… it's consuming us. I mean, we are saving each other no matter what, we're stumbling by each other's side no matter what, we can't get parted from each other…" Samael gulped down the watery ale in disquiet.

"I was afraid you would say something like that," Varric sighed. "Actually I wanted to ask you to… You know, Hawke, I mean well, right?" Varric asked suddenly.

"Go on, Varric," Samael replied, watching his companion with narrowed eyes.

"You know I like you, Samael. And I like Daisy as well, but if I have to choose between you two, I'm choosing you." Varric shook his head and looked positively guilty.

"Just spit it out," Samael rolled his eyes.

"Hawke, you two need to stop seeing each other. You don't see that, but it's like you are addicted to each other or something! It can't be healthy for either of you and it sometimes scares the hell out of me!" Varric raised his voice, then lowered it again, when several regulars swiveled their heads towards them. "Judging by your reaction, you already know that, Samael…" Varric remarked, pounding on the table with fingers.

"Of course I'm aware of that, Varric," Samael shot a quick glance at the dwarf. "Do you think I don't ask myself every day what is it that holds us together, unable to exist without the other one? This bond we share… Where does it end? Where is the boundary? Would I be able to get rid of it?" Samael shook his head vigourously, hiding the face in his palms. He gulped the remark about Merrill drinking his blood, because the dwarf would probably slap him for this foolishness.

"All right, Hawke. I said what I wanted to. I just felt like it was necessary to say it out loud since I consider you my good friend." Varric patted Hawke's shoulder, a bit drunk right now. Hawke grinned at him, but the smile froze on his lips since Fenris just entered the small, crammed inn and as always he managed to get everybody staring at him in awe because of his peculiar appearance and behavior which was constantly screaming 'I hate you all, I was a slave.'

Fenris scowled when he recognized Hawke's face, but he stalked to them anyway. "Where is my glove, dwarf? The note said you have it, so hand it over!" the elf growled at Varric, ignoring Samael. It was Hawke's time to frown about being overlooked in such way, so he kicked the chair away, tossing a sovereign into his empty mug and pulled down the hood.

"Nice talk, Varric. Now if you'll excuse me…" Samael sneered at the dwarf.

"Don't let me bother you, mighty Hawke, I'm leaving right away." Fenris grunted, but he didn't dare looking at Samael.

"No, I'm leaving, you—" Samael countered with a menacing tone. Varric had just enough of their scornful glances and eternal bickering, so he tried to settle things.

"I called you both here to talk, you idiots. So sit down and have a nice heart-to-heart talk, pigeons." Varric belched and stood up, clearly satisfied with his plotting abilities.

Fenris with Samael were gaping at each other for a few seconds, the elf oddly calmed down under Samael's fiery eyes and he even looked like he was prone to sit down and talk to Hawke. The assassin simply turned to Varric, hissing "I'm leaving" with puckered lips and he left the tavern, making sure he hit Fenris' shoulder hard as he passed by him.

Fenris might have dared to tell the truth about how poorly Samael had treated him and it was something Hawke couldn't forgive himself for since he knew Fenris was completely right.


	20. Chapter 20

A boisterous crowd was loitering around the newly established Hanged Man, but the brawny bouncers were selective about who was allowed to enter tonight and who was not. Several Lowtown scoundrels had attempted to get inside anyway but that just led to their leader being dragged away from the Hanged Man right after a Chasind bouncer's fist had explained to him that there was no way to get inside without an invitation.

"Aveline! Here ya go, you old-timer!" The already tipsy Isabela used her elbows to cut a corridor through people to get to her friend. She roared with laughter when she realized the Captain wasn't wearing her usual spotless uniform, but she was fidgeting in fetching attire made for actual women.

"Oh my, you do have tits!" The pirate babbled merrily right into Aveline's ear.

"Shut up, whore…" the Captain murmured and she glanced around like she was looking for somebody.

"Deciding to finally bang that Guard with sweet ass, are we…" Isabela sneered about this very accurate observation and judging by Captain's flushed cheeks, the pirate was more or less right.

"Is Hawke already here?" Aveline asked in a casual tone, praying for Isabela to stop talking about Donnic. Or stop talking at all, that is.

"You know, I seriously doubt that he'll show up tonight…" Isabela looked pensive for a while. "This whole charade is Varric's doing anyway and I don't believe that Hawke would willingly participate," she continued, when Aveline just arched her eyebrow at her. "Don't get me wrong – I'm glad there's free liquor and Corff said I can have my old room back, but Hawke just doesn't seem to appreciate much attention." Isabela laughed.

"Since when do you care for Samael's peace of mind, huh?" Aveline asked and showed the bouncer her golden invitation; yet another demonstration of Varric's pretentious taste no doubt. The huge Chasind examined in admiration Aveline's well-built body in titillating robe and he actually bowed to her, gesturing inside like she was allowed to enter.

"And she really wasn't kidding about not wearing a uniform!" Varric rushed to both women, smirking about Aveline's new appearance. "You actually tried to comb your hair, didn't you…" he cracked a joke and blocked a possibly lethal punch Aveline had replied with. "This way, ladies," the dwarf pointed out a direction and Aveline nodded at Anders and Sebastian who were already sitting in their seats around the table of honour. They gaped at the Captain in her unusual clothing for a while, then went back to their ardent conversation regarding the mages.

Aveline noticed something had brushed her leg and to her astonishment she pulled out Ichabod by his neckline when she glanced under the table. "What in blazes are you doing down there?" she shook him and suddenly her pretty robe looked very inappropriate on her. Ichabod didn't seem to have an answer since he simply stared at Aveline with no expression on his blank face.

"Maker, let him go, Aveline. He's just a harmless crank." Anders turned to them to investigate what had disturbed him during his important row. The Captain shot one last warning gaze at Bane suggesting that if he wanted to stay healthy, he wouldn't crawl under the tables anymore. As soon as she let go of him, Ichabod dropped to his knees and scooted on all fours under the nearest table again with an insane chuckling.

"I wonder what idiot invited this loon here," the Captain sighed, sat down again and made sure her robe was properly covering her.

"Tsk, tsk, such deplorable remark about my charming personality!" Varric countered and slammed a bucket of cooled ale in front of the Captain.

"May I ask your charming personality where Hawke is? I had an impression we are about to celebrate his birthday, but without him present this whole event rings a bit hollow." Aveline looked around like she half-expected Samael would jump out of shadows. It seemed to be his favourite way of making an appearance.

"Don't you worry, our honoured person will be here," Varric straightened and took a sip of his ale in a dignified manner.

"You threatened him with something if he wouldn't show up here, didn't you," Aveline rolled the eyes.

"Of course I did," Varric nodded in agreement, still with a condescending smile on his thick lips. He watched in content the chattering guests around him, Corff was skittering around his new inn in a new doublet, the light from the torches was dancing on the walls and whole atmosphere was promising a very pleasant evening indeed.

oOo

Two hours after the party had started, Merrill finally managed to dress the wriggling Samael in an elegant ensemble. He now wore black silk pantaloons with soft black leather boots, and a white embroidered shirt with broad sleeves, which Samael kept unbuttoning and Merrill insisted it was supposed to be buttoned up. Merrill pulled out a scarlet scarf and decorated Hawke's waist with it, although Samael insisted he would wear a thin leather belt too with the katana scabbard on it. Merrill had already combed his thick black hair veil, braiding a few strands and genuinely laughing about Samael's cracked eyes in bliss and deep content humming during combing.

Merrill made a few steps back to examine her lover and she was indeed satisfied with his appearance although Hawke had a blasé grin on his face and he glanced in longing several times into an open dresser at his comfortable black leather armor and his favourite high rough leather tracker boots. How Samael managed to smuggle the dirt-encrusted boots into his closet through the always meticulous Bodahn, Merrill would never know.

"All done, ma vhenan. We can go now," Merrill smiled shyly at Hawke, but her smile dissipated when Samael started approaching her with a teasing, predatory-like smile on his lips.

"Or! We could stay here and figure out how to unlace your nice robe," Samael attempted for the last time to avoid the party, pushing Merrill towards the bed; obviously much more interested about what was beneath Merrill's airy gown than the gown itself.

"We need to go now, ma vhenan. They are all waiting for you and —" her objection got lost in a long kiss.

"Or! We could stay here and pretend there's no silly celebration out there," Hawke wasn't obviously about to give up that easily.

"B-but I have a present for you," Merrill peeped, although she was pulling Samael into yet another kiss and she was now stumbling obediently to the bed.

"I would rather unwrap it here if you don't mind," Samael knocked them both onto the bed, his eyes hungry and wild as he made a crystal clear suggestion about what he would love to unwrap right now.

oOo

"Ah, my Lady Bartlett, all presents goes right here on this table." Varric kissed courtly the young noble woman's hand and accompanied her to the right place. "Yes, Messere Hawke will be here, of course, no need to get impatient," he smirked and pushed a full snifter of Antivan whiskey into her hand. "Damned assassin," Varric droned under his nose, when three hours of celebration had passed without Samael. Everything seemed to go on smoothly, everyone's glass was full, there were small groups of guests happily bandying about the spicy details of the social life in Kirkwall, but the tonight's hero was nowhere to be seen yet and everybody kept asking Varric about Hawke.

Finally the front door swung open, two Chasind brutes marched inside to make sure there was a proper space for the newcomers and Hawke strolled inside without haste or much interest for that matter. Nobody was surprised when the infamous mercenary was accompanied, as usual, by his elven mistress, who openly claimed to be an apostate and didn't leave Hawke's side no matter what.

At first Samael was quite astonished by the new interior of Hanged Man and he obviously wasn't comfortable with so many people gaping at him, but he managed to keep calm and stalked to the inn proprietor first.

"Corff," he nodded at the Charlie Bowbitter's son and glanced around the inn, inhaling deeply of the scent of raw wood, odoriferous cigars, and perfume emanating from the Hightown guests. "Nice inn," Samael remarked, trying really hard not to blush under the scrutiny of every guest inside.

"Welcome, Lord Hawke, please do be seated and enjoy this evening. The tavern was rebuilt with your help and it won't be forgotten." Corff snatched Hawke's hand and shook it in gratitude. Samael coughed in uneasiness, patted the young man's shoulder fondly and turned around, realizing they were all waiting for him to say something.

"Ehm. Drinks on me tonight!" Hawke exclaimed the only thing that had crossed his mind and made any sense now, and he was indeed rewarded with raised glasses and cheerful shouting.

"Drink, my Lord?" Corff placed a single silver chalice in front of Hawke and Samael tasted immediately the delicious mead.

"Ah, leave here the whole pitcher, young Messere Bowbitter," Samael bowed a bit sardonically like it was a good stuff indeed and his gaze then slipped at the painting of Charlie, hanging above the bar. The next two hours were smudged into an endless row of exchanging pleasantries, introducing and receiving gifts and Samael was mightily grateful for Merrill being by his side, although she remained silent most of the time, no doubt afraid she would have said something inappropriate or silly.

"Thank you," Samael whispered to her as soon as they finally had some time just for themselves. Her smile told him she knew perfectly for what exactly Hawke was grateful here.

"Serah Hawke, may I have a moment of your time?" Donnic halted by them, interrupting a bit rudely their moment. Samael noticed Donnic wasn't really looking at him when he asked the question and it wasn't hard to guess who Donnic was gaping at. Samael laughed shortly about Donnic's muddled face and obvious desire to go to talk to his Captain, but he just had no idea how to approach her, so he decided to ask Hawke for help. Samael sent Merrill to Isabela who was sitting despondently by herself in the corner along with three empty bottles and leaned closer to the helpless Guardsman.

"Dear Donnic," Samael started his lesson and gulped down his chalice, "observe and learn," he belched and his eyes found Aveline. "Our fearless Guards Captain wears tonight a very unusual dress, don't you think?" he glanced back at the drooling Donnic whose eyes were sliding all around Aveline's body. "You'd have to be blind to not notice her long looks she's giving you," Hawke continued.

"Does she look at me? Really?" Donnic peeped with a dreamy expression.

"Focus, you moron!" Samael punched him to wake him up from his fantasizing. "Judging by her glassy eyes and slightly uncertain pace, she's had just enough drinks to allow you to come near her." Samael gulped down the next drink, the air sizzling through his teeth when the strong whiskey burnt down his throat.

"But what if—" Donnic still had a problem with something, but Hawke silenced him when he forced him to have a drink for courage.

"She's obviously waiting for you to make a move, idiot. She won't come after you on her own, because she's not a slut." Hawke rounded up his 'wise' lesson with yet another whiskey shot while Donnic simply stared at his love in admiration.

"Of course she's not a slut!" Donnic repeated after Hawke, but somehow his face seemed to be just too dumb to understand how to woo a woman.

''All right, Guardsman, time to nut up and shut up." Samael patted the Donnic's back and pushed him towards Aveline since he lost patience with that clueless lover boy.

A familiar bluish light flared somewhere by the front door, but when Samael glanced there, trying to focus through his lax alcohol veil, there was no Fenris, so Hawke just shook the head and headed to Anders and Sebastian whose polite quarrel turned into a messy shouting over each other.

"My, my, you really can't let go just for once and have fun, you two," he entered the noisy squabble and pushed the prince a bit further from the drunk handsome mage with disheveled hair.

"Tell him, Hawke, tell him that I won't talk to him anymore, since he's such blind Chantry lover with bloody Andraste on his crotch anyway," Anders growled and glared at Sebastian.

"No, no, no, I won't talk to you ever again, you… you… apostate! Maker himself has abandoned you, you…" Vael clenched his fists, holding back the insults he had for the mage, and with one drunken move he managed to knock over the full glass of red wine.

"Ha! I'm sure he would laugh at you if he only wasn't dead already!" Anders shrieked and his words left the prince dumbfounded.

"All right, that's enough," Samael waved at Corff to bring the warped prince who started to snarl yet another glass of wine. He wrapped his other arm around the furious mage and dragged him away. He figured he needed to sit the tipsy mage down somewhere and he brought him to Merrill and Isabela. The elven girl shrugged at Hawke's mute question regarding the sad Isabela.

"Fawn hasn't showed up yet," Merrill whispered to him, when he pulled her closer into a warm embrace.

"I didn't expect him to be here anyway," Samael murmured into her hair and glanced at the hiccupping Isabela. "Keep her company, my little pariah. She looks like she needs someone." He placed a peck on her forehead and strolled through the buzzing inn, intending to go out for some fresh air. Everybody was bowing to him and parting in front of him as he passed by them. Everybody but Ichabod, who hobbled right in Hawke's way, staring at his feet and muttering something indecipherable.

"What is it now?" Samael sighed, halting in front of Bane who reached for his hand and left something tiny in Hawke's palm. It was a crystal vial with venomous green fluid inside. Hawke raised the vial to examine it in a torch light.

"But it's—" Samael gasped, watching in disbelief Bane and the vial in turns.

"Drought of Waking Death, oh yes." Ichabod cackled, scratching his head and looking everywhere but Samael's face.

"It's so rare, that even I was unable to buy or find every needed ingredient, Ichabod…" Hawke turned the vial in his fingers in reverence, thoughtfully contemplating where the hell was Ichabod able to buy or find this. "In fact, the only person whom I've seen making this powerful substance was my— " Hawke fell silent when he realized he was about to speak about his father.

"What's going on here? Be nice, Ichabod, and go sit there and drink," Varric approached them hastily; pushing Bane away from Hawke in such vigour Samael narrowed his eyes about this sudden twist and Varric's unfathomable anxiety.

"Thank you," Hawke gave the leaving Ichabod a deep graceful bow and thus he had missed that Bane's eyes lingered at him for much longer than they should have. Before Samael left the inn, his gaze landed on two pigeons whispering and pawing each other in the dim corner and judging by the Guardsman uniform tangled in Aveline's robe, Donnic was more than successful after all.

The Chasind bouncers outside nodded at Hawke who would love to roll his eyes about these hired muscles, but somehow he resisted, leaned on the wall instead and he was finally able to take a deep breath again. It took him a while until he realized he was being watched. Fenris was squashed into an alcove across the street, trying desperately to blend into darkness. Samael heard the dark Tevinter curses when Fenris' lyrium tattoos flashed briefly and revealed him.

The first impulse Samael had was to simply walk away from the elf, making clear for him that Fenris wasn't forgiven yet for his words however true they were, but he sauntered closer to him instead, their gazes locked and both speechless. He noticed well that haunted expression Fenris had in his eyes, and Hawke reminisced that last time he saw Fenris this way was right after he had found him all those years ago, surrounded by the slave-hunters from Tevinter, wounded, and fighting for his life and freedom. He saved him that day and however Fenris hadn't ever thanked him for that, Samael was aware that a bond was established between them that day.

"Fenris, I—" Samael slipped into the alcove, searching for the right words. Restless, Fenris raised a palm to silence Hawke, but neither he was able to find proper words here. Samael approached him until the warm glowing hand was on his chest and he awaited in suspense the elf's reaction. Fenris closed his eyes briefly before his hand clasped Samael's shirt and yanked him closer to him.

"I was told you've had some problems…?" Samael's quiet question tickled in Fenris' ear since he cautiously placed his head on Hawke's shoulder, half-expecting the assassin would push him away.

"Aveline wasn't satisfied with my high wine consumption level, saying the Hightown neighbors started bitching about me again, then she reminded me I'm about to become a permanent resident in the city jail and shit like that." Fenris replied in a pretended nonchalance, but Samael caught that tormented undertone in the elf's husky voice.

"And?" Samael demanded his reaction for Aveline's reprimand, blowing the white hair strand off his face.

"And nothing. I promised I shall endevour to exist with less offense," Fenris sneered and let his arms to slip around the assassin shyly.

"Like that would be possible," Samael chuckled and suddenly he felt completely at ease because obviously he had his Fenris back. He wanted to say something about their dissension, about that stolen kiss, but he realized they both didn't wish to speak about it ever again.

"Going inside?" Samael asked after a long comfortable silence, realizing they would be probably coming for him soon anyway.

"Open bar?" Fenris decided to investigate first, making a few hesitant steps out of their hiding place.

"Sponger…" Samael shook his head with dimples on the cheeks. "Hey, elf, where's my present anyway?" Samael recalled this was his birthday as he pushed the elf back into the alcove.

"Uhm, coinless here, sorry." Fenris shrugged, lowering the head in guilt, but there were impish stars in his eyes.

"Nothing new, I see…" Samael gave him a sardonic grin, tilting the elf's face up gently and making sure that Fenris wanted this just as much as he did. Samael then briefly brushed his lips across Fenris' before he devoured his mouth in a slow, thorough kiss.

"I… I thought only your blood mage was allowed to touch you." Fenris breathed out when the kiss was over and just their foreheads were leaning lightly on each other. Samael had no answer for that, so he just shrugged and glanced at the Hanged Man front door.

"Shall we?" he reached for the elf, hauled him towards the entrance playfully and let go of his hand just a second before they entered the inn.

oOo

Merrill fell silent when her lover returned with Fenris, both poking each other in obviously good mood, but instead of asking the prodding questions she had on her tongue, she handed Hawke a rather clumsily wrapped package. Samael smiled at her, noticing her gleaming, lucid eyes and her obvious eagerness that he open the package immediately. The whole room fell spontaneously silent, observing the lovers and Hawke's closest friends gathered around him. Samael started slowly and with a smile on his face unwrapping the package, until he held a mirror in his trembling hand. His mirror. The one he had smashed against the wall the night Merrill had woken up from her long ordeal. The night Samael had revealed himself unintentionally to her.

The mirror was shattered after that night, the frame was twisted, but now it was all repaired. It was like the night had never happened and Samael had no idea if he should be grateful or mad. He stared at his own reflection in the mirror, then he slowly turned it around, tracing with a finger the elaborate twining silver vines and flowers. Merrill saw Samael was unable to move or say anything for a minute, but she knew her endevour was rewarded when Samael pulled her into a long tender hug, not paying attention to their whispering audience.

"I think I'll come up with that 'thank you' part after our arrival home," he whispered to her, granting her an intense gaze. Merrill just blushed, feeling utterly content with herself and her idea of repairing the broken mirror.

Varric approached the happy couple after a moment, coughing and presenting Hawke with a longbow with a grandiose red ribbon on it.

"We figured it might be the only weapon you don't have, Hawke, so here you go." Varric gave him a broad grin, blinking at him, when Hawke rolled his eyes, since everybody knew he hated bows and he really wasn't good with them.

"Don't worry, Hawke, we'll teach you," Sebastian swayed to them and patted Varric's shoulder like the two of them were about to give him a first lesson.

"Lucky me…" Samael grimaced, but they all saw how pleased and relaxed he felt, which was confirmed when he smiled in gratitude at Varric, Sebastian, Anders, Aveline with Donnic and Isabela who all had pitched in and bought that amazing bow.

Sudden whispering and noise by the front door snatched Hawke's attention however and he found himself staring at the hooded slender silhouette standing at the Hanged Man doorstep among the bouncers wallowing in dirt, groaning in pain. Samael kissed Merrill's hand lazily, whispering something briefly into her ear before he headed for the door.

"Don't let us interrupt you…" Hawke threw in a casual comment to calm down the nearest guests and sneaked out to meet the stranger for he knew perfectly who he was.

"Now I feel honored indeed to have a mighty Hero of Fereldan present at my petty birthday soirée," Samael waved the crawling bouncers away, attempting to have a snobbish accent.

"There's nothing heroic about what I've done, Hawke. And you know that." Fawn stomped on a burning out cigar, still hooded, and folded his arms on chest. Hawke scowled after this dark remark, feeling nothing but disquiet emanating from the elf. Samael reached for Mahariel and he was surprised when Fawn actually let him pull the hood down, revealing the pale beautiful face beneath it, now clearly upset.

"What happened?" Samael inhaled sharply, watching the elf. He pulled his hand back though, when he noticed Fawn had shot a startled glance at Hawke's hand lingering on his body.

"Can we talk somewhere private?" Fawn frowned at the bouncers standing like statues near the Hanged Man entrance again, several guests trying to eavesdrop and a few persons walking by them and glowering at them.

"Follow me," Hawke bowed and headed inside, noticing that Fawn had covered his face again with a silver hood. Once inside, everybody kept staring at Hawke and his incognito friend until they disappeared in the room Corff had given Hawke as a token of his gratitude. Bowbitter followed them there only to set a tray with liquor and refreshments on the table by the droning fireplace, then he left and closed the sturdy door cautiously behind him.

Fawn watched hungrily the tray for a while, but he resisted taking anything until Samael pointed out the elf was allowed to eat and drink whatever he wished. Hawke watched the elf's wolf-like appetite with a raised eyebrow, lounging in the armchair with one leg swung over the armrest and waiting patiently for Fawn to start talking.

"Surely it's no surprise for you if I say my time in Kirkwall has probably reached its end and I intend to leave soon," said Fawn as he brushed the corners of his mouth with a napkin. He then stood up, poured two snifters of brandy and offered courtly one glass to the surprised Hawke.

"Ehm, yes. I've been expecting you to leave, but not so soon, to tell the truth…" Samael's voice trailed off and he realized too late it sounded like he didn't want Fawn to leave the estate. The elf smiled hesitantly when he picked up on Samael's uneasiness. "Do you need me to do anything? Anything to prepare for your departure? And where are you going anyway?" Hawke literally spluttered out this chain of questions to cover up that mayhem in his head. Fawn watched him in disbelief for a while though, making Hawke even more uncomfortable.

"Why?" the elf finally broke the awkward silence, but Hawke's confused face told him he would have to do much better than this terse question to get any reply from him. "Why do you care at all about me?" Fawn started pacing around the cozy modest room.

"Uhm, I don't…?" Hawke attempted to wipe this ticklish topic off the table, but apparently Fawn wasn't satiated with this denial, since he pierced Hawke through with his shark eyes. "I don't know, all right? I'm just trying to be polite I guess. Despite the rumors I've been taught good manners." Samael laughed but it sounded hollow.

"I can hardly believe that, but if you say so…" Fawn granted the assassin a charming smile, sitting down again. Hawke frantically searched for anything else to say since he felt naked under Fawn's scrutiny.

"Forgive me my curiosity, Fawn, but I always wondered one thing," Samael rubbed his chin pensively, but he intently watched the elf to learn if he was prone to answering questions.

"Judging by the lack of manners, lack of respect for anything and anybody, and no patience whatsoever inside of you, I would like to encourage you to ask me as many questions as you can." Fawn leaned comfortably backwards in his armchair and his thin lips twisted into a sardonic grin.

"Hilarious as always," Samael yawned in reply, hurling a little pillow at the elf. "Back to my question, elf," he added with a sinister smile. "How it come you're banging Isabela? I thought you don't like anybody but the elven apostates, yet you openly admit you're with her and you like her."

"Ah, she is indeed just a human, but I do find her interesting for her free spirit and generally iconoclastic views." Fawn stapled his fingers, frowning lightly about his open confession.

"Icono-what?" Samael scratched his head, attempting to look as innocent as he could. "Forget it. So you're not leaving with her?" he asked.

"Don't be ridiculous, Hawke. Of course not," Fawn laughed about this thought. "But I would appreciate if you don't tell her anything about this," he added after a moment, glancing at Hawke cautiously. Samael just shrugged like he couldn't care less about this matter.

"You know, I thought all this time you would become friends with Fenris, but you both seem to hate each other instead. Now why is that?" Samael kept asking questions, happy about Fawn's willingness to talk.

"The thing is, Samael, that any elf, who does not have magic, is corrupted and less than an elf. Obviously you are not able to understand this since you are not an elf yourself. Elves, who do have magic, I consider my people." Fawn accompanied his explanation with very elegant hand gestures, then he continued. "Your glowing elf is peculiar indeed, that lyrium in his skin is rather interesting, but that's all." Fawn sipped his brandy, contemplating about what he had just said.

"Yes, that lyrium is quite remarkable indeed," Fawn added after a moment of silence, talking more like to himself right now. "But he doesn't possess real magic, he hates the mages because he knows how inferior he is. Just another defective elf, who is full of himself. A self-righteous prick, I would suspect." Fawn remarked, a bit bored now.

"All right, all right, that's enough. I get it, you don't like him." Samael sneered at the proud elf, not comfortable about Fawn talking about his lyrium warrior in such way.

"But you do," Fawn scowled in reply, setting his inquisitive eyes at Hawke.

"Yes." Samael confirmed quietly, but obviously he wouldn't talk about Fenris anymore.

"Let me give you something then, Samael." Fawn stood up abruptly like he had recalled something important suddenly.

"Uhm, are you serious?" Hawke arched an eyebrow, wondering what Fawn could possibly have in mind.

"It's a ridiculous human custom, but I do appreciate your hospitality, Hawke." Fawn looked like he had incredibly hard time to put these words into a coherent sentence. "Come with me," he spoke again after a moment when Samael didn't move, reaching his pale arm from beneath his silverish cloak to the assassin. The pouting Samael decided to play a little with the elf, so he glanced at the arm, then at Fawn's face, then the arm again, like he couldn't decide. Fawn looked like he would love to slap him for this cat and mouse game, but obviously he had grown fond of Samael a little as well, although he would never admit it.

Fawn and Samael strolled through the inn side by side, glancing at each other several times and since Fawn left his face to be seen this time, the ladies present gasped and swooned as the beautiful elf walked past them, not granting them if even the subtlest glance. Nobody had attempted to stop them as they left the inn, clearly not wanting anyone to bother them right now. Fawn, obviously in good mood and relaxed with the brandy warming up his body, wrapped his arm around Hawke's waist and Samael, however astonished he was by this unexpected gesture, mirrored him. They walked in silence for a while until the assassin realized Fawn was leading him back to Hawke estate, right into the blossoming garden. Samael gulped the funny remark about the soppy atmosphere since Fawn looked thoughtful now and his face was darkening with every step he took.

Fawn pushed Hawke gently on the stone bench under the tree, pacing around him in disquiet and leaving Hawke sitting on the needles and pins since he had no idea what was happening. Somehow Hawke remained silent, leaving a space for the elf to calm down.

"I possess just a few things, Hawke," the arcane warrior spoke finally. "Some of them are more or less valuable and I intend to take them all with me. But the thing I love the most—" Fawn's voice cracked, leaving Samael worried about the elf now, since he genuinely couldn't imagine anything that would be able to take that legendary repose only Fawn possessed away from him.

"I can't take it with me, Hawke." Fawn threw his arms sideways in despair. "The thing is it can't follow me through the dark paths I must take now. I would like you to have it, Samael." Fawn halted right in front of him, dropping to his knees by the bench to have a better view into Hawke's shadowed face.

"You know, Fawn, maybe you should have said you have a gift for me and then simply given it to me. Not let me know you actually need me to look after whatever you're talking about, then wait if I agree or not with your plan." Samael shook his head, but the elf's imploring eyes had unarmed him. Fawn nodded in acceptance of this rebuke, pulled himself up again and made a few slow steps into the vast garden.

"Aa' i'sul nora lanne'lle, my friend." Fawn whispered into the darkness. They both listened to the sounds of night for a while, the curious Samael forgot to breathe and Fawn had a melancholic smile on his lips. Hawke slowly stood up when a huge silver stallion materialized from shadows and walked gracefully and inaudibly to the elf, lowering his proud head to poke Fawn's shoulder. Samael simply stared in rapture at the magnificent beast while Fawn stroked gently the stallion's ruffled mane.

"This is the end, Occela, my friend. I intended to give you freedom. I intended to let you scurry under the blue skies. I intended to let you cool your slender beautiful legs in the salty waves and moving white sand, but, alas, my friend, I can't do that now." Fawn's voice died away as he patted the horse again and he called Hawke to come closer now.

"I'm giving you willingly to this human, Occela. From now on he is your new master and I know you'll serve him well just like you've served me." Fawn found Samael's hand in dark and squeezed it before he placed it on the warm and velvet silver fur. Occela shifted his weight from one leg to another, snorting when he felt an unfamiliar hand touching him, but Fawn soothed him with whispered elvish words only the stallion could hear.

"Namárië, Occela." Fawn gave the stallion a deep graceful bow before he turned to once again astonished Hawke.

"Wait! When you said you're leaving soon, you didn't mean you're leaving like now, right?" Samael placed his hands at the elf's shoulders and Fawn just sighed, unable to look into Hawke's widened eyes and panicked face.

"Farewell, Hawke. This encounter with you I did not expect, but I'm grateful it happened." Fawn reached for Hawke's hands still clenching his shoulders and held them for long seconds before he let go of him. "Return to your celebration now and please look after Occela. You'll find out soon enough he and I share a similar charming personality," Fawn smiled faintly, then he turned away from the assassin who just stood there with his head hanging. Fawn picked up his valise hidden in the rose bush and he started walking slowly towards the garden wicket, although his pace was slowing down with every step he took. Fawn was indeed fighting with himself and his better judgment, but he simply couldn't leave Hawke yet. Not like this. He turned to Hawke again by the wicket, his eyebrows knitting when he waited for Samael to look at him. When he finally did, Samael was grateful for the darkness since his eyes were filled with tears.

"Hawke?" Fawn asked into the silence.

"Yes?" Samael replied with hope in his voice, having no idea why he felt this way, but it indeed scared him.

"Nothing," the elf whispered after a moment when his deeply-burnt vigilance, mistrust and pride won after all his internal struggle. "Take care of yourself, Samael," Fawn ended the conversation and Samael just lowered his head again in response.

When Hawke looked up again, Mahariel was already gone.

Occela started foraging in the flowerbed with his black hoof, indifferent about what was going on. Samael wasn't able to shake off the persistent feeling that Fawn intended to say something else in the end, but it didn't matter now. The Hero of Fereldan was gone and Hawke glanced at the unexpected snorting present the elf had left behind.

"Damn it, Bodahn will kill me…" Samael muttered to himself, observing the destroyed flowerbed Bodahn was so proud about. Having no idea how he was supposed to take care of the marvelous stallion, Samael slowly shuffled by his side, raking mindlessly through the silver mane just like Fawn did.

Samael knew he was supposed to take care of the horse, let Bodahn know they had a new family member, go back to Hanged Man… anything, but all Hawke could feel right now in his soul was just an echoing emptiness. Occela poked his new master with the tip of his nose and it was indeed like he had woken him up, since Samael patted him briefly at his neck and left the garden, making sure the wicket was locked properly. He walked slowly back to Hanged Man, but he had no desire to celebrate anything this time.


	21. Chapter 21

"Bodahn, is the person on my doorstep sleeping or dead?" Hawke slammed the front door closed, marching right into the kitchen after he had stumbled over a skinny, motionless body in his way. He briefly patted the mabari bouncing around him in joy.

"Ehm, Messere, I've told you about this lad two weeks ago." The dwarf put the roast back into the oven, slapping Samael's fingers scrabbling for the piece of meat. He ignored the accusatory undertone in his master's voice like he was to blame for the squatting lad and he didn't even bother to look up at his master. "He says his name is Hein, some ramble about you saving his life and that he wants to serve you in return," Bodahn shrugged like he couldn't care less and pushed Hawke into a chair and set a silver bowl with fruit in front of him.

"I remember him," Samael sat down and started rolling the grapes on the table before he gobbled them all up. "Varric has mentioned him, but he somehow omitted to add that the boy's greatest wish is die under my command." Hawke brayed in laughter about his own joke, but Bodahn just shot at him a damning glance like these words were inappropriate considering all those dead urchins Raen had taken care of.

"The lad is persistent. I must give him that, Messere…" Bodahn's voice trailed off as he rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Shall I say to him something, Messere?" he asked directly. "You can't allow him just to squat up by the front door of your estate. What do you intend to do about him?"

"Well, nothing I guess," Hawke shrugged. "I have quite a shitstorm around me already and I certainly don't need to investigate right now if he means well or if he's just a petty thief with hope to come to my mansion, gain my trust, then rob me blind and leave." Hawke frowned after this disturbing thought had crossed his mind and the dwarf tried to distract him, but he unfortunately chose even worse topic.

"How was your visit at the Viscount's office, Messere Hawke?" Bodahn asked in a cold demeanor, but Samael knew him well enough to know he would have the old meticulous and always caring Bodahn back soon.

"Hum…" Samael reacted at the question, his mouth full of grapes. Bodahn just rolled his eyes about his master's childish behavior. "He tried to chide me because I had cut Morrell in half right in front of his delicate eyes, then he tried to make me pay for cleaning the blood, but at that point, I ceased paying attention to his endless cawing." Hawke snooped around the kitchen for anything he could eat, since the dinner was still apparently far away.

"Where's that elf of mine?" Samael droned just to himself when he found nothing eatable near him.

"Miss Merrill was carried home an hour ago by that noisy pirate friend of yours, Messere," Bodahn replied with puckered lips. "Both drunk!" he spluttered out like it was the worst possible thing. "The maidservant of course took care of our lady and she is now resting upstairs. The pirate insisted she would speak to you about something very important, but I told her to come back when she was sober," the old dwarf sizzled and cut off a huge piece of butter, then smashed it into a bowl with potatoes.

"Merrill? Drunk?" Hawke repeated the facts with arched eyebrow. The dwarf just nodded and Samael bolted upstairs to investigate what had happened. As far as he knew Merrill hadn't been drunk since her little stunt with the drinking contest. Once he was inside of the bedroom, Merrill's peacefully sleeping silhouette in the bed calmed him down as he tiptoed to the bed, sitting down slowly, so the moving mattress wouldn't wake her up. He watched her for long minutes in the dim light coming from the fireplace, until she stirred and opened her veiled eyes, observing Samael with uncertain smile on her lips.

"Samael is here…" she whispered in relief and closed her eyes again. It came to Hawke that she considered him no doubt as a dream, nothing more.

"Merrill, wake up," he shook her gently, smiling to himself about her lovely drowsiness. She opened the eyes again, then hiccupped and squirmed beneath the blankets.

"Do you want to hear a secret?" she giggled like a dove, again so tranquil and… drunk.

"Sure I want to know a secret, my dreamer," Samael glanced around the room and started pulling his boots off, thinking about taking a nap before the dinner.

"But you won't tell Samael!" Merrill demanded a promise, stretching like a cat. She tried to grab Hawke's forearm, but couldn't aim right. Hawke held back a genuine burst of laughter, but something urgent in her voice made him wait in suspense for her next words.

"No. No, I won't tell Samael about this secret." Hawke shook his head mildly. "Now tell me the secret, Merrill."

"I searched for him, you know?" The elf finally managed to grab Hawke's hand. "I really tried. I tried so hard and I wasn't able to find Samael nonetheless. He didn't want to be found. He left me. He left me!" she sobbed suddenly. "I love him and he left me anyway!" she jabbed the fingernails into Samael's flesh. Samael hissed because he didn't expect her to show such vigour proving him how he had hurt her when he disappeared for the whole week, then he came back and didn't even bother to explain properly where he had been and why. Of course they had a terse conversation about it, but Merrill apparently had hard time in getting past this. Hawke was well aware she deserved much better explanation and that he was overwhelmed with the work he had been swamped with during the last two weeks, but he was just too afraid to discuss his sins with her. Too afraid she would say 'enough'. But this waiting and evasive tactics was obviously much worse.

"Ah, Merrill…" Samael sighed, realizing how he had screwed things up again when he had stalled his return home from the compound after he got better. "What's lost can be found, my little pariah," Hawke tucked her back into the blankets, ashamed and angry at himself. The elf just murmured something indecipherable and closed the eyes. Hawke saw there would be no point in talking to Merrill right now, so he just slipped out of the armor, cursing the buckles and bands in the process, and collapsed into the bed. Somehow the refreshing sleep avoided him this time.

oOo

"Where were you?" Samael woke up when somebody shook him roughly. Merrill was sitting with her legs crossed next to him, her hair disheveled, her eyes barely unstuck and she looked like she had a headache after her drinking with Isabela.

"And good morning to you too, my love…" Samael replied with pretended jovial voice, but he was well aware of her narrowed eyes and clenched fists. When it was clear she was waiting for his explanation, Hawke coughed in uneasiness and started talking. "You do know where I was and why, Merrill," he muttered, stretching and hoping she would let go of this topic.

"Here I thought we've talked about it. You already know what happened, Merrill." Samael scratched his head, giving the elf an insecure smile. "I've got ambushed on my way to the docks," Samael added slowly, when Merrill insisted on this topic with puckered lips. When Merrill didn't say a word, he continued. "I woke up in the Qunari compound after four days. That's all I know," he finished his speech, watching the witch cautiously. Once again, Merrill stayed silent, but she opened her mouth several times like she couldn't decide what to say. Finally, she threw the arms in the air, the words rushing out of her in rather incoherent rambling.

"I… I thought you'd left me! But the ship was still in the port You have no idea how I've been searching for you, Samael! You don't even care! You just – puff. Gone. Just like that. I was so, so desperate! Nobody was able to tell me anything about you! I was so angry when shems resisted talking to me even when they clearly knew something about you! And… and…" Samael rather silenced her outburst with a tender kiss, but Merrill pulled back after a moment. "Wait, you said you woke up after four days?" she asked with her eyes narrowed.

"Well… I intended to go home as soon as I could, but…" Samael stammered, averting his gaze and unable to bear the pain Merrill had in her lucid eyes. She stayed silent for long minutes, clearly contemplating Hawke's words, but Samael felt he had to explain much better.

"Merrill, it's…" the assassin shook his head when he couldn't find the proper words here. "It's not like I didn't care you were worried about me!" he threw arms in the air. "After all that was happening, I just found myself in need to have a few calm days, that's all. Just a couple of days for myself." Hawke's eyes were pleading with her to understand. Merrill simply watched him with her eyebrows knitting and fingers.

"You miss her, don't you." It wasn't a question. Merrill fell back into the bed, staring at the ceiling. Samael let out a rather desperate laugh, but his voice died away soon. Just the fact he perfectly knew of whom Merrill spoke was the evidence she was right. "You are mourning her," she continued, her voice still very quiet and wounded.

"Ridiculous!" Hawke laughed in anxiety to cover up he still had a problem to get over Haydée's death. "That's ridiculous…" Samael whispered to himself in disbelief, rummaging through his thoughts. He realized after several minutes he had been watched the whole time.

"All right, Merrill. I… Yes, I think I liked her because… because…" Samael snorted and threw the arms sideways, searching unsuccessfully for the way out of this conversation.

"Because you two were alike, ma vhenan," Merrill finished his sentence for him; her every word bleeding. This statement left Hawke pretty much astounded and he had nothing more to say about this matter.

"Haydée's dead, Merrill…" Samael breathed out finally, not knowing if he was telling that to her or to himself for hundred times. "Look, Merrill, we've been through a lot lately. I know it's hard to be around me, but—" Samael realized he was just rambling, too insecure about this whole situation. Merrill was obviously thinking the same since she put a finger across Hawke's lips to silence him, shaking her head like the words were futile here.

"I just need to know one thing, Hawke." Merrill set her wide open eyes at her lover, searching his expressive face. Hawke just kissed her finger still touching his lips, nodding at her like he would answer any question. "Do I still have you?" Merrill peeped, not taking her glowing green eyes off him. Samael replied with slow sad smile before he replied with a question.

"Yes. Yes, you do. And do I?" he asked quietly, lowering his head, too afraid of the answer.

"Yes, ma vhenan," Merrill's eyes widened like she couldn't believe Hawke needed her to confirm the obvious. "You've always had me," she cuddled by his side as his arms slipped around her tightly.

"Good," Samael breathed out and pulled her as close as he could. The long silence that followed was precious, but Hawke couldn't afford to put off his duties today, so he interrupted it eventually.

"Are you coming with me, my little pariah?" Samael asked after a long silence of blissful wallowing in the bed. "I was told Xenon is back in his Emporium and I would love to ask him a few questions like why the hell his golem thought I was a punching bag or why he disappeared in the first place. Then I am summoned to the Qunari compound… again."

"Of course, ma vhenan. But I wanted to visit the alienage today as well, so if you don't mind, I will go with you just to visit that old creepy man," Merrill stretched and rolled over to face her lover.

"All right, we go to Xenon together, then I'll have a charming meeting with the Arishok, so I guess you can go visit the alienage instead. I don't like those giants staring at you anyway," Samael sneered, his eyes hungrily watching the slender body in his arms. He laughed at himself as he realized how much he wanted to have her by his side all the time, but then his thoughts went back to the Qunari mess. "Apparently there was yet another clash between the Qunari karataam and several Chantry zealots." Samael scowled when he realized how he hadn't missed these eternal quarrels around the Qunari in this city.

"Are we going like now?" Merrill found her lover's lips and kissed them fondly before she asked.

"I don't think so…" Hawke pulled a blanket over their heads and silenced the giggling elf in no time.

oOo

"Oh, tunnels and caves! I like tunnels and caves!" Merrill poked the crumbling sewer wall with her staff, then she realized Samael with Aveline by his side were ahead of her a few steps, so she hurried to catch up with them.

"You hate caves and tunnels, Merrill," Hawke rolled his eyes, glancing at her over his shoulder.

"Ah, you're right, ma vhenan." The Dalish girl replied, looking around in disquiet suddenly. "They are so dark and dismal and always full of spiders, angry spirits or half-mad apostates—"

"—says the half-mad apostate!" Fenris snarled right behind her, making her jump.

"Fenris…" Hawke gave his lyrium warrior a long look telling him to keep these insults to himself. The elf sneered in return, but he continued walking in silence.

"Here we are." The Captain drew her sword, stepping cautiously forward, right to the new black sturdy door leading to the Black Emporium.

"Is that necessary?" Hawke's eyes were following Aveline's long sword.

"Pardon me if I'm mistaken, Hawke, but weren't you attacked by a mad golem the last time you showed up here?" Aveline silenced him with a scorching glare, opening the door vigorously. They walked in silence forward until a tired voice reached them.

"Ah, I've been expecting you, young Messere Hawke." Samael squinted through the shadows to find the owner of this rusty voice and there he was – Xenon, sitting in his armchair and surrounded by three young urchins.

"Cut the crap, you old charlatan," Hawke growled in reply, stalking right in front of the impressive armchair. One his annihilating glare persuaded the urchins to scurry away. "I'm much more interested about another matter. Why did you order the golem to attack me?" Hawke clasped the katana hilt, his eyes shooting fire at the old emporium proprietor.

"_You_ destroyed my shop, _you_'ve turned my poor beloved Bombastus Gigantus Crumbum the Third into an icicle and you _dare _coming here and demanding an explanation?" Xenon's voice thundered in the crammed emporium, a few spiders fell from the ceiling, urchins squealed in their hiding place, but Samael wasn't scared at all. His hand shot out and squeezed Xenon's parched throat while the other hand ripped out the katana out of its scabbard.

"I'm perfectly aware you somehow managed to cheat the death, dear Xenon the Antiquarian, but I'm also pretty sure you would die as any other if I chop you into twitching pieces with my katana." Samael hissed these words right into something what could have been Xenon's ear once, waiting for a response. Xenon gulped when the weapon flashed in front of his eyes, but other than that he didn't seem concerned at all.

"The golem was supposed to guard the emporium, you scoundrel. Nothing more. Now get that thing out of my face or the consequences will be grave for both of us indeed." There was such a threat in Xenon's voice, Hawke lowered the katana after a moment, glowering at him and intending to step back, but Xenon's arm yanked him even closer. "I know what you two have done, young Hawke," Xenon whispered into his ear, glancing at the fidgeting Merrill, who would like to intervene and drag her lover away from the frightening old man. "I can smell you inside of her…" Xenon continued, realizing Samael shuddered after these words. "In the end of this, there would be a price nobody will be willing to pay." Xenon shoved the young man away, their eyes clashing for a long minute as Samael was estimating how much Xenon knew and how he knew in the first place. "Mark my words, young Hawke." Xenon slowly closed his eyes, stirred for the last time before his body froze and he started snoring.

"Very helpful as always, damn it!" Samael shouted at the sleeping mummy and the urchins' eyes peering at him from the alcoves disappeared at once. Merrill strolled by his side to calm him down, taking his hand into hers both. They left the emporium when it was clear Xenon was done talking for the day.

oOo

"Shanedan, Arishok." Hawke stalked without hesitation through the Qunari compound and halted right in front of the Qunari leader. He didn't realize Fenris and Aveline were gaping at him because of this greeting and they were even more surprised when the Arishok slowly rose to his full height, giving Hawke a long, thoughtful gaze while he looked like he was watching something very pleasing indeed. Samael was used to the Arishok's eternal staring, so he waited patiently until the giant gestured towards the armchair he had ordered to bring here for Hawke along with fruit bowl and two goblets of mead. Hawke glanced a bit insecure at his companions since there were obviously no seats for them, but Aveline just shrugged and made a few steps back along with Fenris like she challenged Hawke to talk to the Arishok without them since it was clearly the giant's intention anyway.

"My patience is strained, Hawke," the Arishok grumbled once they had no listeners. "Only a few from one of my last karataams returned after they've been attacked by your Chantry kneelers and as if that wasn't enough, there was a thief here last night."

"A thief?" Samael spluttered out his favorite mead he had been drinking happily. The Arishok glanced at him briefly with a lenient sneer on his lips before he realized they were being watched, so he just continued in the conversation.

"A thief fell into a trap like I expected and he stole something he thought was a Gaatlok formula." The Qunari leaned backwards in his armchair, obviously satisfied with this outcome.

"What he thought was a blackpowder recipe?" Hawke repeated the words with his eyes narrowed since now the Arishok managed to snatch his full attention. "What was it then if not that Gaatlok formula?"

"It was a decoy. Saar Gamek, the poison gas. It was—" the Arishok started explaining, but Hawke interrupted him rudely.

"— you actually let that thief to steal anything from you?" Samael had a problem to fathom what was the purpose of allowing anyone to steal anything at all. "Why? What good that would do?" To Hawke's astonishment, the Arishok just shrugged like it simply happened and there was no point in talking about it over and over again.

"If you don't want to discuss this thief, why have you summoned me then?" Samael lowered his head in submission, too afraid he would say something inappropriate about the Qunari wasting his time.

"You will want to hunt this thief, Hawke." The Qunari jabbed his bottomless eyes into him, waiting for a reaction. Hawke jumped up in disquiet and started pacing around the throne.

"Why should I?" he halted in front of the Arishok with a question. "Tell me one good reason why should I care at all," he demanded an explanation. When it looked like the Arishok had none, the Qunari spoke again.

"Thousands will die, Hawke," he grunted and Samael froze on the spot, contemplating this information.

"And?" Samael asked quietly after a moment.

"You don't want to save your brethren who might die if this thief decides to make the poison gas, Hawke?" the Arishok seemed genuinely surprised.

"I am not some holy savior of this city!" Samael almost yelled in reply, sick of being dragged again and again into the dire affairs, dark conspiracies and danger.

"But you do know now something bad is going to happen very soon. Will you do nothing?" the Qunari raised an eyebrow at Hawke, obviously trying to understand the human.

"Does it affect me? My friends? I don't think so. Does it affect you in any way since I know this substance is no danger for the Qunari people?" Hawke threw his arms sideways, watching the silent Qunari in suspense.

"Fixing the mess in this city is not the demand of the Qun," Arishok shook his head, the ribbons in his hair streaming in the mild breeze. "But you, Hawke, you will want to hunt him."

"You're mistaken." Hawke collapsed back into his armchair, hiding his face in palms. "What I want is to leave these shores for good, leaving this cursed city behind for good and return home." He twitched when he felt the Qunari's huge hand touching him and forcing him gently to uncover the face. "I am this close to making it happen, Arishok…" Samael gestured how little was to be yet done before he would leave Kirkwall. He slowly stood up, sighing when he saw Fenris and Aveline were watching the whole conversation with their mouths hanging, although they weren't able to hear anything.

"My patience is strained, Hawke," the Arishok repeated his main topic of their conversation and his voice sounded deaf.

"I know. It won't take long before the end, Qunari," Samael whispered in reply, not really knowing why he had said that, but he sounded sad.

"Panahedan, Hawke." The Arishok granted him one last intense gaze before he walked away from him and disappeared in his quarters.

"Until we meet again…" Samael murmured to himself, thinking that their next encounter might be drowned in blood judging by the last events.

oOo

Hawke spent the afternoon without Merrill, lost in his thoughts and ruminating over what was happening in Kirkwall and how would this all end. The Templars were getting more and more furious, driving the mages into extreme and desperate actions and the Grand Cleric Elthina remained as always neutral and she denied with stubbornness even the tiniest involvement of the faithful regarding the Qunari in the city. The Arishok made clear that he stood on the edge of his patience and Hawke was sure he didn't want to live as long to see what would happen once the goblet of Qunari patience would overflow.

Varric was very busy during those days, Samael hadn't seen him in a week, Fawn was gone, Isabela was holed up in her new room at the Hanged Man, and Anders had a tough week, hiding from the Templar hunter who had sniffed out his Darktown clinic. Only Aveline seemed to have a pleasant week, since Donnic and she finally 'hit that thing' as Varric put it, when he demanded some spicy details regarding Donnic's bed skills. Since the birthday party, Fenris calmed down finally because Hawke started visiting him again, although Merrill seemed to have a problem with his daily visits of the lyrium warrior's mansion.

Hawke's fingers were mindlessly playing with the cold black ring while he was thinking and time to time he patted Charon's head drooling in bliss on his lap. It was now when he had woken up from his silent musing, realizing it was already dark outside and Merrill was supposed to be home for a few hours now. The ring twitched like it felt Samael's anxiety, but the assassin was used to these unexpected stunts the ring was doing sometimes.

A commotion by the front door ripped Hawke out of his thoughts as he pushed Charon off him and stalked there.

"Do you know there's some homeless bum sleeping right on your doorstep, Hawke?" Varric dashed inside and poured himself a drink like he was home there.

"Varric…?" Hawke growled at the jovial dwarf when Ichabod marched in right after him and seated himself on the edge of the sofa, wriggling. Samael's face was daring Varric to come up with some explanation why Bane was with him and that explanation better be very good.

"What?" Varric gave him an innocent grin, but somehow Samael didn't buy it.

"What is he doing here, Varric?" Hawke hissed, so Ichabod wouldn't hear it. "I thought that last time I explicitly told you that—"

"C'mon Hawke, don't be such lout." Varric laughed, but once again, Hawke caught that odd anxious undertone. "He'll be quiet and play like a good boy," the dwarf sneered, dismissing the topic.

"Messere, two bits of news." Bodahn came running from the basement, having hard time to catch a breath again.

"Tell me the bad news first," Hawke sighed when he saw Bodahn's glum face. Despite the remark, Bodahn started with the better information.

"The good news is that the builder claims you will have new horse barn for that over-sized beast by the end of the week, Messere Hawke." Bodahn frowned when he reminisced about the magnificent stallion Occela whom Fawn had left here as a gift for Samael. Hawke waved his hand like Bodahn should continue.

"Messere Hawke, that bloody thing is gone," Bodahn muttered to his shoes, fidgeting.

"Come again?" Samael crept slowly to his faithful servant with his eyes narrowed.

"I am very sorry, Messere, but that horse has escaped the City Guard stable this morning," Bodahn glanced at his master this time, awaiting his wrath. To his surprise, Hawke just went to fix himself a double whiskey shot, crushing curses between his teeth.

"Now I know at least what Fawn meant when he claimed he and Occela shared a similar personality." Samael grunted to himself, gulping down the whiskey. "Fucking brilliant," he added after a moment when he was pouring himself yet another drink. "Easy to gain, easy to lose…" Hawke chuckled bitterly, then hissed in pain when the ring on his finger flared with bright green light.

"—go to hell, you mimsy spinster, I have problems too!" A sudden penetrating voice then continued with a chain of the worst pirate insults Hawke had ever heard.

"Don't you dare bothering Hawke with your selfish prattle and go spreading legs someplace else, you pirate floozy!" Judging by the choked thud, Aveline punched Isabela to underline her words. "And I am no spinster, whore!" Aveline's venomous voice died away in clanking of her armor when Isabela had attacked her in return.

"Well, good for you. We'll see how long it takes to Donnic to realize you're the one wearing pants in this relationship, you—"

"Shut the fuck up! Both of you!" Samael shouted. Isabela started groping for her splendid golden weapons while Aveline grasped the sword hilt when Hawke rushed to them, ending the quarrel immediately.

"Hawke, a part of Lowtown has been infested with some gas. The people are going crazy, then they drop dead, I need your help investigating what's going on!" Aveline spluttered out, marching to him like she would love to drag him there right away.

"I'm going to die! There. Got your full attention I hope." Isabela pushed the Captain away and her voice was trembling when she set her pleading eyes at Hawke. Aveline stirred and her hand started fumbling for the sword again, but Hawke calmed her down with a raised hand.

"What's this about?" Samael turned to the pirate queen first, ignoring the snorting Guards Captain for now.

"Remember that relic I was pursuing for so long? I think that— " Isabela started her explanation.

"Come on, Bela, I thought we were talking about this. Fuck this relic. When Castillon shows up, just let me know and I'll take him down," Samael scoffed like he couldn't fathom why Isabela was so upset.

"Care to hear about actual problems now?" Aveline glared at the assassin, challenging him to say no.

"Hit me," Samael shrugged but turned around and stomped into the main hall since he had a feeling Aveline would see on his face, that he had anticipated this event and he could have probably stopped whomever did this. Once again, Samael was rubbing the ring without knowing it, but he felt worse and worse from unknown reasons. The words engraved on the ring sprang to his mind while he tried to listen to Aveline, but wasn't able to.

_I am that which binds and cannot be undone…_

"The Arishok made clear that poison gas came from his compound, but he claims somebody stole it last night. Can you believe it? He hasn't said a word about it until a thought he might have something to do with it crossed my mind. We need to go there right now, Hawke! To help people, stop that bastard who did this. The Viscount will go mad once he learns about this, damn it!" Aveline started pacing around Hawke, not paying attention to anything but her outburst.

_Before you don me__ m__ake sure of your one…_

"Hawke! Are you even listening to me?" Aveline shook him roughly when she realized Samael was staring at nothing particular with a blank expression.

"Hawke?" Varric seemed frightened when he stalked to the silent assassin. Obviously he had been watching him for some time now.

"I…" Samael rubbed his temples when he had woken up and glanced around wildly. "I need to go," he breathed out, his hands shaking.

"What?" Both Isabela and Aveline shouted the same question when it slowly came to them, Hawke wasn't about to help either of them.

"What the hell is going on, Hawke?" Aveline looked like she would drag Hawke to deal with the poison gas even against his will if necessary.

"You still don't get it, Samael! I need that book to get Castillon off my back!" Isabela yelled with horror in her eyes.

"Merrill..." Samael shook his head, grabbed the light cloak he found slinging over an armchair and buckled the belt with the katana on it hastily.

"All right, Hawke, it has something to do with Merrill. And…? Where is she?" Varric caught the cloak, demanding an explanation.

"Yes… Merrill," Samael turned at him with widened eyes, yanking the cloak out of the dwarf's grasp.

"She is at…" Samael's voice cracked as he shook his head in despair. A single word slipped out of his mouth before he whirled around and ran away with Charon at his heels.

"Sundermount."

oOo

Samael realized he had reached Sundermount in a record time. The ring flashing in urgency and burning on his finger was spurring him into an insane running tempo and Samael once more cursed Occela since he could use a horse right now. Charon seemed very cheerful by this unexpected runaway from Kirkwall; he considered it a contest no doubt as he was happily running by his master's side with his tongue lolling out of the maw.

What had Marethari said last time he saw her? Sundermount was forbidden to Merrill and she would be killed if she happened to show there ever again – that was it. And now the ring was telling him over and over again Merrill was right in her former brethren's camp and Samael realized it was not his fear that had flooded into his mind once more; it was Merrill's fear, but somehow he was able to feel it, either through the ring or their blood bond.

The Dalish camp was nearby when Hawke finally halted and bent over to catch a breath. If Samael wanted to scout the environs first, his own worries and fear for Merrill wouldn't let him, so he marched forward until three elves stood in his way with arms folded on their chests.

"Where is she?" Samael went straight to the point, searching the stout faces in front of him one by one.

"She broke the sacred law of Elvhenan people and she will bear the consequences, shem." A tall elf spoke; sneering at Hawke like nothing could make him more cheerful than Merrill's death.

"Get out of my way," Samael growled and the katana flashed in his hand in one imperceptible move.

"Don't you dare interfere, human!" The other elf shrieked and stepped forward. A long painful cry of pain reached them and they all fell silent and turned around. When the elves came back to themselves, Hawke was sneaking past them and as they tried to catch him, the mabari snarled and cut their way off, buying some time to his master to get to the camp.

The scene in front of Samael left him speechless. Merrill was levitating with her eyes closed in the middle of the circle of the Dalish elves, she was surrounded by six tall Shades and Marethari was kneeling right in front of her with a blade stuck in her chest, gasping for air. As Merrill waved her fingers, the Shades started flowing inaudibly towards the Keeper and they enveloped her in such way nobody could see her. Just a final scream of pain let them all know the Keeper Marethari was dead. The elves watched the whole fight between their Keeper and her banished First breathless, but they all anticipated Marethari would win and get rid of Merrill for good. Now she was lying on the ground, the dirt drinking her blood hungrily, as the Shades returned to their posts by their mistress – Merrill.

Samael started creeping closer to his woman, realizing the deafening silence around him and nobody dared stopping him. When he was close enough, the Shades swiveled their faceless heads towards him, awaiting orders from their summoner, but none came, so they started approaching Hawke, clearly intending to kill him as well.

"You all were created through my blood, foul creatures, so don't you dare touching me!" Samael raised the katana, ready to defend himself. To his astonishment, the Shades halted and Merrill opened her red eyes at that moment, surprised, confused, as her feet touched the ground again.

"Wha… Why… What h-happened?" she stammered, but only the silence was an answer. Samael slowly approached her, watching her and the dead body in disquiet. When Merrill noticed Marethari's corpse, she fell on her knees by her with a sigh full of pain, her eyes widened in shock and panic. Only now she fully realized what had happened.

"You fought with her. You won," Hawke stated the obvious since Merrill needed to hear that. She started shaking her head, the big tears rolling in silence down her cheeks.

"It can't be. It wasn't supposed to happen. Please, this can't be true…" she started sobbing and let Hawke to get her up and cry into his chest. Hawke knew which aravel was Marethari's, so he brought Merrill there to keep her away from her former brethren, who remained oddly silent and motionless. He saw well she needed a few moments alone, so he just squeezed mutely her shoulder, left Charon to guard the entrance to the aravel and strolled around the camp for a while. Once again, nobody dared approach him or talk to him.

It took Merrill an hour before she emerged from her hideout and when Samael saw her face, his heart skipped a beat. It was lifeless, with no expression, her eyes still crimson and she looked like a part of her had died along with the Keeper.

"We need to talk." Merrill waved her hand at Hawke and waited for him to come to her. Samael just arched an eyebrow after this terse command, but he gulped the remark about being ordered in such way and sauntered to her. All he wanted was to get Merrill out of there and forget about this whole event as soon as possible.

"So?" Hawke touched her waist hesitantly. "What happened? Why did you come here?" he asked in suspense and his eyes narrowed when Merrill shivered and stepped back, so he wouldn't be touching her.

"I went to the alienage." Merrill started talking slowly, like her memory was blurred and she was uncertain. "I remember passing the Tree there," she glanced at her lover, "then… nothing."

"Nothing?" Hawke repeated. "You don't remember how you've ended up here?" he watched her in disbelief.

"No," she shook her head and started quivering again.

"All right," Samael brushed his forehead, realizing Charon was circling around them, guarding them and growling at the gaping elves. "Let's just get out of here, shall we?" he slowly took Merrill's cold hand and made a hesitant step away. Merrill just shook her again, watching her lover with sad eyes.

"I can't, ma vhenan," she whispered at his mute question about what was wrong.

"Of course you can, my little pariah," Samael countered, his voice hoarse and insecure. Something was definitely very wrong here.

"You don't understand, Samael!" Merrill shook him in vigour, her eyes flashing in the sunset. "I killed her. I killed the Keeper!" she shouted in despair, pacing around Hawke.

"And you had no choice about it, Merrill. It was either you or her. Now let's go!" Samael replied, tensed.

"I am the Keeper now, Samael." Merrill halted right in front of him and said this sentence slowly and distinctly, so Hawke would hear and understand each word perfectly.

"What?" Samael laughed, searching desperately for an explanation here.

"I am their Keeper now," Merrill gestured at her former brethren, "they need me." She granted him a cold glare, daring him to question her statement.

"Need you?" Hawke laughed again, but this time it chilled Merrill's very core. "They hate you, Merrill!" he grasped her by her waist and pulled her closer.

"They do not!" she wriggled out of his arms and clenched the staff.

"Yes they do!" Hawke countered vigorously, glancing around, realizing the whole clan was watching them. After his ardent speech, Merrill fell silent, like she had nothing more to say, but Hawke was far from considering this conversation as over.

"So what now?" he asked quietly, but he saw her reply written across her wretched face. "You're not coming home with me?" Samael whispered instead of her when it was clear she wouldn't say it out loud. She simply nodded in reply and this simple gesture broke him.

"I thought I could do this, ma vhenan," she rasped and stalked to him.

"No, no, no, no…" Samael started shaking his head in vigour, clasping her shoulders.

"I thought I could leave my old life and be with you forever," she placed a cold hand on his cheek.

"Don't… Don't… Please, Merrill, don't do this —" Samael's voice cracked as he cupped her face with both hands.

"I have to, ma vhenan. I was brought here for a reason. I am the Keeper now." Merrill kept saying that, but her words couldn't reach Hawke. Samael let go of her, his jaw set, so he wouldn't beg not to leave him, but his eyes did that anyway. He was able to nod and he stepped three steps backwards from her. Even now, he half-expected Merrill would giggle and tell him this all was just a bad joke. Charon was watching them during the painful conversation in turns and he had no idea what was happening, though he was able to feel his master's growing anxiety and sorrow in his voice.

"So…" Samael glanced around and clenched his fists to hide his shaking hands.

"So…" Merrill coughed in uneasiness, making a single step towards him. "Will you come visit me?" she peeped, but she saw well something was dying in Hawke's eyes. He took his time with a reply and even then his "yes" was almost inaudible.

"Soon?" Merrill held back her tears, when she watched Samael's face transforming into a bloodless mask.

"No." Samael turned around like he had nothing else to say to her. Charon cocked the head, still trying to figure out what was going on, but he followed obediently his master.

"Samael!" Merrill cried out his name and she had a strong feeling this was the last time she would see Samael Hawke indeed. He didn't say anything, but he halted and slowly turned back to face her again.

"I love you," she whimpered, her eyes begging him to understand.

"Not enough apparently…" Samael countered with a bitter remark, whirled around and left the Dalish camp.

oOo

"Perfect…" Hawke murmured and glanced up at the heavy clouds above his head. The storm was coming. He was soaked to his bones when he had reached Kirkwall gates and only now he started thinking about where he was going anyway. Charon kept sauntering by the assassin's side, wondering no doubt why they weren't running home to hide from the storm and taking a slow walk instead. When Hawke reached his estate, he watched the dim windows for a long time. The thought about Merrill leaving him echoed in his mind only a little, yet he wasn't able to go inside and admit Merrill wouldn't be there, ever again. Charon whined when Samael came unstuck from the weeping wall and started walking away from the estate, but as always, he followed the master no matter what. When Samael glanced around him for second time, he realized he was crawling through Lowtown. Nothing could have prepared him for the fact he was standing right in front of the Ichabod Bane's inconspicuous house and the blinking candles in the windows were calling him.

_Merrill left me._

Samael walked through broken wicket leading to Bane's front door.

_Merrill left me._

Samael shambled right to the new doors he had paid for when the Dalish girl destroyed it.

_Merrill left me._

Samael leaned on the door frame with his right arm, pounded on the door with his left palm and let his head hung. His long hair was drenched now, stuck to his head and he watched as the rain kept dribbling down his black hair braids, then they formed into round drops and fell on the ground to be replaced with others.

_Merrill left me._

The sturdy door screeched and opened while Hawke's left arm pounding softly on it fell helplessly down along his body. When Samael slowly straightened his head up again, he was as always ensnared into milky emptiness of Bane's eyes. No. Samael really had no idea why, of all the people and all the places in Kirkwall, he had ended up on the Ichabod Bane's doorstep, but oddly enough, he just did and he awaited Ichabod's reaction with tension. No word between them when Ichabod pushed the front door open a bit more, so Hawke could walk in. Samael watched this mute gesture of invitation with indifference and Ichabod seemed genuinely scared when he didn't move even after he had invited him inside.

"C'mon, silly lad, I don't have all night to stand here in this draft…" Ichabod grumbled, but he regretted immediately his stark voice since Samael jerked and made a cautious step back. "Stubborn…" Ichabod snorted and yanked the assassin inside, slamming the door close. He was indeed curious what made Samael come here in this late hour, but he decided not to pry when he had a chance to observe the trembling man, his soaked clothes and his ashen face.

So they stood there in the small, almost empty front room, watching each other, not aware of their desire that the other one would say something, anything.

"Can I sleep here tonight?" Hawke finally managed to form his reason why he had come here into words.

"Yes." Ichabod replied right away and led the assassin to the droning fireplace, pushing an ugly fat glass with brandy into his hand.

When Ichabod Bane watched his sleeping son later, there was nothing but pure delight on his face. He didn't know nor care to what or whom he should be grateful for leading his son to him; but he indeed was.


	22. Chapter 22

"I thought I told you to stay away from that elf, didn't I?"

Samael hit the small table with his leg at the sound of that rusty voice. He had been creeping through the Ichabod Bane's mansion in the early morning; with just a pelt around his waist and followed by the sleepy mabari. His hopes to disappear without talking to Bane were shattered when he couldn't find his clothes and Ichabod was already awake in the kitchen, preparing something sizzling in a pan. Hawke's under clothing and armor were drying around the fireplace, so he sauntered to it, clearly thinking of how he was supposed to get dressed without letting go of the pelt. Sneering as he watched his clueless son, Ichabod dumped the bacon stripes on a plate and went to pick up the dry clothing, only to toss it into an armchair and make a supercilious bow afterwards.

Samael, with his lips puckered, waited for Ichabod to turn to his pan again, then he started pulling on his tight breeches and under tunic frantically, perfectly ignoring Ichabod's scoffing about Hawke being a delicate flower. Still offended, Hawke marched right to the shabby table and sat down without an invitation. His eyes followed Ichabod to see if he had noticed his rude behavior, and when he seemed totally at ease, Samael snatched the plate full of steaming bacon and started devouring it like he hadn't eaten for a year. Actually it tasted so good, he forgot to check on Ichabod, who started chortling inaudibly about his son's bronto appetite. Oh yes, Ichabod Bane was well aware he was supposed to play his half-mad man act now, but he simply wasn't able to. Surely Hawke was used to Ichabod's sudden mood swings; the most inappropriate words said at the most delicate of times, and his crazy stunts. Although Ichabod was growing tired of this game. But how could he just stand in front of his son and tell him he hadn't been dead during all those years? How could he explain why he didn't come back to his family or at least let them know he was still alive, somewhere?

"I will need that plate again, lad…" Bane glanced at the young man, who was hungrily licking the grease off the plate. During the sleepless night, Ichabod put two and two together. And after Varric's discussion yesterday about Samael bolting out of his estate like a greased lightning, he had no doubts about what had happened last night at Sundermount.

"So?" Ichabod set his eyes at his son, until he realized Samael was gaping into them already, so he rather looked down into his own plate again. Hawke knew Ichabod wanted some kind of reaction or explanation, but he really couldn't speak about Merrill right now. Or could he? Ichabod had accepted him in his house last night after all without any futile questions. Didn't he deserve an explanation?

"Yes, you told me to stay away from an elf. Maybe you should have been more specific about which elf, you know…" Samael murmured, intending to be playful, but he couldn't. Ichabod stayed silent, but he clearly wanted Hawke to continue. "I… went to Sundermount last night." Hawke brushed his forehead and tried to swallow back the lump in his throat before he continued. "Merrill was forced to fight her former Keeper and apparently according to some ridiculous elven law, she is now the new Keeper because the old one kicked off." The assassin snatched the nearest jug and started drinking in vigour until he realized there was milk inside. He shot a disgusted glare at Bane and grimaced like he'd rather drink the worst Hanged Man swill there was.

"Indeed, she is now a Keeper if she managed to kill Marethari and thus won the fight." Ichabod rubbed his chin and realized too late Samael was watching him, and his thoughtful face, in both surprise and suspicion.

"Did you know her well?" Hawke asked after a pause.

"Whom?" Bane arched an eyebrow. "The old Keeper? Yeah, I knew her a little," he nodded, and once again Samael regretted Ichabod's empty eyes, so he wasn't able to track what he was thinking about. "So now what?" Bane broke the silence again.

"I don't know. I mean, it's not like we broke up, but…" Samael shrugged and took a sip of milk. "But she did choose those elves over me, so I guess she made her choice." Hawke rounded up his thoughts in a quiet voice. "And apparently I need to make my own now," he shrugged again and coughed in uneasiness when he realized Ichabod had stopped eating at some point, and was now listening to him with his full attention. The tense silence that followed was interrupted when Charon started choking on the bacon skin. Samael jumped to his feet, thankful that he had something to keep him occupied, if only for a moment. Without saying a word, Hawke walked to the rest of his stuff and started to dress, clearly intending to leave as soon as possible.

Ichabod felt that odd tension between them, so he wasn't about to pry some more or ask anything else. He was convinced Hawke wouldn't even say goodbye for that matter. Why was he surprised then, when he felt the assassin hovering right behind him, clearly at a loss for words?

"Ichabod…" Samael was finally able to find his voice again. "Thank… you. I suppose you could have let me drown in that storm last night," he joked, with an insecure smile on his face.

"Better to clothe you than feed you, I suppose…" Ichabod glanced at the single bacon strip left on a plate, along with bread crumbs and an empty milk pitcher. Hawke chuckled and squeezed Bane's shoulder briefly before he slipped out of the door.

"Shoo, you mangy pussycat!" Ichabod pushed the mabari outside and was rewarded with a low growl regarding the insult. Hawke bowed, clearly not intending on forgetting Bane's hospitality; Ichabod just rolled his eyes in return and slammed the door shut.

oOo

Hawke didn't see the skinny silhouette loitering around his estate because of the late summer morning mist. It came to him though that the warm days had past too quickly this year. Samael narrowed his eyes when a stranger emerged silently from the mist and stopped him on his way home. He indeed expected the cheeky lad would bother him, there was no doubt of that, but instead he just stood there in his ragged red leather jerkin. Samael saw his gaunt chest and the pale skin that was stretched over his skeletal arms, and his thin brown pantaloons that were slashed awry for reasons unknown. The tore right above the lad's bony knees and he wore holey boots which looked like they were taken from a dead person who had been chopped into pieces.

Hawke had no desire to do charity or have a hearty talk with the young tramp, however the boy's face looked resolved to address Hawke directly. Samael walked slowly past the lad, hitting his shoulder hard when the lad didn't even attempt to side step him, and let the assassin pass. Charon looked puzzled after the silent encounter and his dark round eyes were watching his master, awaiting to see if he wanted him to tear the boy apart, or at least scare him a little. After Hawke finally punched the little blighter, which was a hint to tell the lad to get lost, the boy staggered, and his scrawny body hit the wall. The boy gulped back the scream of pain and desperation, as he slowly straightened up again and watched Hawke and the mabari disappearing in the mansion without a subtlest glance behind them. The lad looked around cautiously to see if he was alone. When he had convinced himself he was all alone again, he let out a choked sob. Yes, his life just seemed to hit the bottom.

oOo

"Finally!" Bodahn came running to his master and started dusting his cloak and unbuckling the belt with the katana scabbard on it. "Finally you're home, Messere Hawke. What happened? Where were you? We were so worried about you and —" Samael silenced this incoherent enthusiastic ramble with a raised hand.

"We need to talk, Bodahn," he muttered and sat down heavily into his favorite armchair by the fireplace. The old dwarf nodded and sunk obediently into another armchair, awaiting an explanation, although Hawke had no idea how to put it. But maybe it was as simple as anything else.

"By the Paragons, Messere, just say what you have to say!" Bodahn couldn't bear the silence and squirmed on his seat like he was sitting on thorns. "Where is our Lady? Is she all right?"

"Merrill… won't be coming home, Bodahn," Samael whispered. Before the dwarf could assume the worst, he continued. "She decided to stay at Sundermount with her own people and I don't think she would reconsider her choice." Hawke covered his face with both hands, as if his own words were tormenting him. When he dared to look at Bodahn again, the old dwarf was gaping at him in shock, unable to say a word.

"Messere Hawke —" Bodahn clearly intended to soothe his heartbroken master, but the assassin wouldn't let him. And the old dwarf himself seemed to need comforting as well.

"So I wanted to ask you to pack all her stuff, store it in the basement and give it to her when she shows up," Hawke interrupted quickly. "_If_ she shows up…" Hawke added bitterly, stretching his legs and frowning at the fireplace.

"Messere, isn't it a bit… premature?" said Bodahn daring his own opinion and instantly regretting it as Hawke's blazing eyes pierced his and he clenched his fists. Hawke tried to prevent himself from yelling at the faithful servant.

"Merrill is no longer welcome here, Bodahn. Is that clear, or shall I write it on parchment and stuff it down your throat?" Samael finally let himself release the scorching wrath that had been consuming him ever since Merrill had left. But did she really leave him? As far as Samael could tell, they had had no chance to talk about how their relationship would work after she became the Keeper, because Samael had run away like a coward. But was there anything to discuss?

When Hawke had calmed down a little, he felt ashamed about shouting at Bodahn, who was just trying to help and understand; as always. He felt like apologizing, but Bodahn's reassuring smile told him his sorrow was understandable and his outburst was forgiven.

"I need to gather my dear lackeys now and let them know what's happened." Samael strolled to his table, clearly intending to write messages, when Bodahn's voice stopped him.

"Messere, if you have a moment, I would like to speak with you about an important matter." Hawke searched the old dwarf's serious face, clearly contemplating what this was about.

"Sure, but can it wait for a minute?" Samael decided to write the messages first.

"Of course," Bodahn bowed and stomped into the kitchen. He peered at the assassin from around the corner after a moment. "I would like to remind you, Messere, that you have nobody to deliver the messages." He gave the assassin a patronizing glance. "I am too old for this and Sandal is too… scattered," he lowered his voice so his son wouldn't hear him.

"Damn it!" Hawke exclaimed, realizing the majordomos was right. He went back to writing the notes with the tip of his tongue protruding out of his mouth though, when a sudden idea crossed his mind. He rolled the messages into little scrolls and headed for the front door. Once he put a hand on the door knob, he started musing about his intention, but then he shrugged like he had no choice. After all, he didn't want to call his friends here on his own.

Samael slipped outside, closing his eyes when the morning sun reached him through the dissolving mist, and he leaned on the wall. A quick glance around told him the young wanderer wasn't any place nearby, but somehow Hawke felt he was being watched. He held the hand with the scrolls up, like he was challenging somebody to take care of them. When Hawke's arm slowly descended again, he had to admit that his silly plan had failed as nobody showed up. He made two hesitant steps into the street and when he saw nothing, he turned around whilst shaking his head, only to face the silent silhouette which seemed to materialize out of nowhere.

Hawke resisted gasping in surprise about this unexpected appearance and he searched the pale face in front of him thoroughly, still determined and speechless. A lanky arm took the scrolls from Hawke's loosened hand and the lad glanced briefly at the addresses written on each note, before he nodded like he had understood. If he intended to say anything, he wasn't able to since he turned around hastily and started coughing. Samael shuddered when he had glimpsed the prominent ribs on the lad's back through the long slash in his red jerkin; the ribs were now painfully contracting as the lad tried desperately to stop coughing, but couldn't. It indeed sounded like the boy's lungs were tearing apart and he would drop dead of exhaustion any second.

"Are you… all right?" The boy felt the hand gently squeezing his shoulder from behind. He whirled around wildly, although he was struggling for breath, and glared at the guilty hand which Hawke had pulled back. When he realized the assassin wasn't about to say anything else, the lad simply nodded at the question; his chest heaving. He watched the pouch of coins that Samael pulled from his pocket hungrily.

Samael held out his open palm, which bore five silvers, towards the lad and watching the eagerness in his eyes with poorly hidden disquiet.

"I might need you this evening as well, so be here if you're interested." Hawke threw in the casual comment, but he watched the lad's reaction carefully. "What's your name?" Hawke whispered after he had let the coins fall into the lad's soiled hand one by one.

The lad just sneered at Hawke and turned around to take care of the messages. It was like he was indeed contemplating the right answer, since he glanced over his shoulder at his new employer ten seconds later. But he wasn't smiling now; not at all, since he had reminisced once more about the night Hawke had spared his life, and everybody from his company was lying dead around him. He remembered well the last words Hawke had told him back then.

"Rabbit. My name is Rabbit." The boy made a subtle, surprisingly winsome bow, before he turned around and walked away. After several steps, the boy started running and disappeared around a corner leading to the Viscount's Keep.

oOo

"So? What's the matter, Bodahn?" Hawke walked into the kitchen, still ruminating over the peculiar boy; his savage eyes, torn clothes and hostile behavior. Yet there was something much more interesting about him, something behind those hazel eyes. Something well-hidden.

"Messere, I feel obligated to tell you me and my boy will probably leave your services in a few months." The old dwarf glanced at his master who simply sat down after the statement, staring at his feet. "I'm not getting any younger and I've started thinking about Sandals' future, poor boy. What he would do once I'm not around, I do not know," he sighed. "Don't get me wrong, Messere, we both are very honored to serve you and we've served you the best way we were able to, but—" Bodahn fell silent. "M-Messere…?" he stammered when he got no reaction from Hawke, who jut rubbed his eyelids.

"Actually I was wondering why you have stayed for so long in the first place, Bodahn," he finally spoke, his voice hushed. Their eyes met and there was nothing more to really say. "I will miss you. Both of you," Samael murmured, before he got up and went wandering around his lonesome estate.

oOo

Samael spent his afternoon holed up in his basement laboratory, mixing a new potent substance which was supposed to weaken an enemy for several days, and was supposedly resistant to all common antidotes. In the evening he couldn't ignore the voices in his estate. The idea that all his friends were upstairs, waiting for him, and waiting for an explanation, was making him sick. Hawke raised the hand holding the vial with light yellow fluid inside, shook it while he was examining it in the light of a torch, then smashed it against the flagstone since this attempt was clearly unsuccessful - just like the previous one.

Knowing he couldn't put it off any longer, Samael climbed up the sturdy ladder, pushed the floor door open and prepared himself for the inevitable. Why did he felt so timid, damn it? It wasn't like he was humiliated in their eyes, dumped like an old shoe which had served its purpose and now it was time to let go. Or was he? Well, either way, Hawke would know very soon, as he entered the main hall, forcing himself to have at least a mild grin on his face. Judging by his friends' expressions, they already knew, but they also wanted to hear it from him.

"Good evening, friends," Hawke addressed them, his voice oddly calm and emotionless. There was a broad grin from Varric, an intense gaze from Fenris, an insecure smile from Anders, a calm nod from Aveline and— "Where is Isabela?" Hawke scowled about her daring ignore a direct order to get her ass here.

"We don't know, Hawke," Varric replied for all of them. "She's not in her room at the Hanged Man and I haven't seen her in about four days," he continued, sounding concerned.

"Huh…" Samael droned, contemplating this information. "So… I figured that we haven't spent much time together lately, and so we should rectify that tonight." He suggested to his audience cheerfully, avoiding the Merrill topic like a child. They all granted him a long wordless gaze, telling him he was among friends and they all knew about it anyway. "And—" Samael coughed in uneasiness, "Merrill kind of left me last night, so I could use friends right now," he finished his sentence quickly, fidgeting and looking everywhere but at their faces.

"You're better off without her!" Anders spluttered loudly, clearly pointing out Merrill's blood magic. Fenris kept watching Hawke in silence, but he smiled faintly when their eyes met.

"Oh, Daisy …" Varric just shook his head, staring at his intertwined fingers. It wasn't that long ago when he had warned Hawke about his strange relationship with the Dalish apostate.

"That ungrateful little bitch—" Aveline set her jaw and stalked to Hawke, who just stood there with his head hanging. After Aveline's hateful words, his eyes were burning with tears.

"Aveline…" Varric shot a warning glance in her way, shaking his head in vigour.

"What?" She puckered the lips, stroking Hawke's arm gently. "Too soon for trashing her?" the Captain asked, genuinely puzzled.

"Way too soon," the dwarf confirmed quietly.

"I'm fine," Samael growled and shook the soothing hand off him. He stalked to the cabinet and started pulling out the bottles of Antivan whiskey. "While we're still sober, I just wanted to let you know I won't be around for a week or two," he glanced at them, then continued pouring the golden fluid into snifters. He checked their reactions at his statement and, to his eternal relief, there was nothing but pure understanding in their eyes.

oOo

Varric had to take care of some business before midnight and Anders looked exhausted, so he left the Hawke estate along with the dwarf. Fenris simply reminded his assassin he was here for him before he headed home, with a rather satisfied grin on his face. Aveline kept shouting at Hawke, since she had found out he knew about the stolen poison gas. Samael had no strength to argue with her, so when he couldn't bear her scolding anymore, he kicked her rudely out of his mansion and listened to her swearing through the closed front door instead.

"Of course she had to find out… Of course it had to be tonight… Damn it… Everything bad just keeps haunting me and eventually biting my ass…" he kept whispering to himself, and slowly slid down on the floor along the door. Suddenly he felt very, very old, drunk and worthless. Lost. A quiet triple knock right behind his back made Hawke jerk. He realized he had sent the lad to the Arishok with yet another message earlier tonight and he was supposed to bring back an answer. Samael figured it would be best to let Bodahn deal with the enigmatic boy, but since he was cleaning spilled alcohol, washing glasses and almost inaudibly cursing the muddy boot prints of Hawke's companions, the assassin decided to receive the Arishok's message himself and send the boy away.

Hawke stood up and waited until the front room stopped spinning around him, then he opened a crack in the front door. He squinted into darkness. The boy was leaning on the door frame with his thin bare arm and the first thing Samael noticed was the goose bumps on it. The boy's blond, disheveled hair looked grey in the dark and his head was lowered, hair obscuring his face.

"Your answer, Serah Hawke." The lad handed over the same scroll where the Arishok had added his few words in reply. He managed that without looking at Samael, and one brief glance told Hawke the lad had probably not eaten, despite the fact Hawke gave him some silver earlier that day. He looked so wretched and stolid, that even the cold and arrogant assassin simply wasn't able to slam the door closed to his face. "Anything else?" The lad peered askance at Hawke, whose hair was blowing in the surprisingly strong and chilly gust of salty wind coming from the sea. As a response, Samael held out a palm with a few coppers he found in his pocket, but the coins jingled on the street flagstones.

Caught completely off guard about what just had happened, Samael flung the front door wide open to take a better look at the trembling boy, who blinked slowly a few times into the dazzling light coming from inside, before he fell on his knees and slowly tilted his head back, staring into the cloudy sky like he was making peace with the world. Hawke glanced around, considering for a second the boy might just be faking it, but he squatted down next to him anyway and shook him. The lad groaned and slumped right into Hawke's arms. Samael was so taken aback by the movement that he fell down, and found himself sitting on his own doorstep with a cold skinny body on his lap.

"Please, tell me Messere that you just haven't killed that poor child!" Bodahn skidded to a halt right next to them, bending over to examine the motionless body. The boy was barely conscious, watching Hawke in submission with half-opened eyes. He made no effort to actually do anything except lie there and wait for the death. "Shall I call your healer friend back, or maybe we should take him to the Chantry, Messere. They would take care of him… He's so young…" Bodahn's nervous voice trailed off when Hawke dragged himself up and decided instantly what to do. He bent down for the boy's body and arched an eyebrow when he realized the lad wasn't any heavier than Merrill.

_Merrill__… __Merrill__…_

Her face flooded into his mind immediately as he lay the skinny boy down on the sofa, accompanied by Bodahn's desperate attempt to get him out of the estate. "So now we're picking up stray dogs out of the street or lost souls waiting for an absolution, Messere? Please, be reasonable and let me arrange a transport to the Chantry." He kept jabbering, but was silenced once Hawke shot an annihilating glare at him.

"Hot bath, hot soup, make space in that tiny room right next to the kitchen. He'll sleep there tonight." Hawke always made his orders terse and clear, but Bodahn seemed more than reluctant to fulfill them this time.

"Servants are already asleep, Messere, and I'm not going to fix the soup and bed. So bathe him yourself if you must," Bodahn's every word cut right through Hawke. His voice was so cold, but Samael knew he could well have said something a lot worse - like that Hawke was trying to fill the hole Merrill had left inside of him, or that he felt abandoned and empty, so he tried to get a new pet.

_Damn __it, __Samael, __what__ are __you__ trying __to __do __here__…__? __You're __going __slightly __mad. __Yes, __that's __it. __Mad._

Hawke admonished himself when he half-carried, half-dragged the boy into bathroom. He unlaced the lad's dirty, stinking jerkin and examined it while holding it just in the tips of his two fingers. His boots were easy to take off since they were far too big for him. He watched as the boy tried to force his quivering fingers to cooperate and unbutton the pantaloons. Hawke was trying his best not to stare at the lanky body in front of him; bruised, dirty, pale and every single bone visible. When the lad started pulling his trousers down, Hawke turned around, raking his fingers through his long hair and feeling clearly uncomfortable. His other hand rippled mindlessly the steaming water surface in a tub before he left bathroom, too well aware of the boy's inquiring stare at his back.

Once in the main hall again, Hawke silenced Bodahn immediately with his finger crossing his lips. Oddly enough, the old dwarf calmed down when he realized his master had his good old cunning sneer on his face, and he obviously wasn't about to trust this boy.

" Have I ever given you the impression that I am stupid, my dear Bodahn?" he whispered just for Bodahn's ears, who just shook his head in reply, although he did think about the reply briefly. "Then follow my lead," Samael purred once more, bending down to the dwarf. The next sentence he said out loud; perhaps suspiciously too loud, Bodahn would dare remark.

"What about my new vault, Bodahn?" he asked, smirking at the dwarf like he was supposed to answer with the truth. The old dwarf tapped his nose twice before he piped up with a reply.

"All set, Messere. It's finished and in your bedroom behind that huge Denerim painting on the wall. The key, though, will be delivered tomorrow by the blacksmith himself, Messere." Hawke showed thumbs up after the statement, challenging Bodahn to add something even more appealing. "And just as you've requested, Messere, I moved the contracts and gold there, so it would be all safe now." Samael resisted chuckling; he patted his old loyal servant and bowed like it was well done indeed.

"Lovely," Samael sneered in return, but his voice was perfectly casual and business-like. "Off to bed, dwarf." He chased Bodahn away, nodding at him, like he would take care of the boy from now on. Samael seated himself in his armchair with a brandy, listening to the splashing coming out of the bathroom, which, suspiciously, had started right after he was done talking to Bodahn. Oh yes, Samael might be heartbroken, sad or angry, but he always knew how to play the game.

oOo

The boy felt like he was born again after the hot bath. But as his senses started to work properly again, he was growing more and more anxious about this whole situation. His eyes were wandering around the spotless bathroom, stopping at the crystal flacons stuffed with intoxicating bath salts. He studied the simple yet elegant brass chandelier with six white candles and tall column of clean fleecy towels in the corner.

Hein's plan was quite simple; start working for Serah Hawke, gain his trust, serve him and use this opportunity to move up in the city, but this… this… this was a disaster. How he was supposed to face Serah Hawke now when he had picked him up from the street, sick, ravenous, beaten? And why he had to talk about that damned vault right behind the bathroom door? Hein dressed himself into plain linen clothing folded on the chair by the bath tub, then he cautiously opened the door and peered into the main hall. If he half-expected, half-hoped Hawke wouldn't be there, this wish was snubbed instantly as their eyes met, and Hein was aware Hawke was clearly thinking about him; thinking about what to do with him. Having no choice, the boy shuffled in front of Hawke with downcast eyes, awaiting a verdict. Samael watched him for some time, tormenting him deliberately with silence as he took his time before he spoke.

"Feeling better?" Hawke asked, watching his hand playing with an empty brandy snifter. He gestured towards the tray with meal with his other hand and the lad wasn't able to resist the steaming food, prepared by the dwarf. "The ground rules are simple enough." Samael glanced at the boy, who was in the middle of devouring his late dinner. "You rest and sleep here tonight. Tomorrow – get out. Try to pull some trick on me and you're dead. Any questions?" he asked casually, still watching the snifter, but he was aware the lad had stopped eating and his almond eyes were not set on him.

"No, Serah Hawke," Hein replied after a moment. Samael was able to catch a bitter undertone in the boy's voice, although he wasn't able to figure out why was he was upset.

"To the kitchen, the last room on your left. Good night." Hawke got up, stretched, patted the mabari who was watching the boy in suspicion. It came to him, then, that Charon shouldn't be there, as he would probably kill the boy if he happened to attempt to do something tonight. "Come on, my furry friend. I need you in the basement tonight to guard my laboratory," he whispered loud enough for Hein to hear. Once Hawke disappeared into his own quarters, Hein sauntered around the main hall for a while, touching this and that, admiring the weapons on walls shyly, and the paintings, huge vases and imposing fireplace. Then he sneaked into to the appointed room, but he kept looking over his shoulder, still asking himself how he had gotten into this impossible situation.

oOo

Samael was lying under the tangled blankets and pillows in his bedroom. One would think he messed it all up on purpose, so the bed wouldn't look so empty without his elf. Everything was prepared; the Denerim painting was slightly parted from the wall, so there was no doubt about where the vault was. Hawke lay on his back with one arm folded behind his head; the other hand was hidden beneath the blanket, holding the hilt of his dagger. How could he be so sure the lad would show up here tonight? And what would he do with him if he was stupid enough to attempt to steal anything? It was difficult to think for the assassin since the whole room was full of Merrill's stuff, which was a great reminder of his loneliness and her betrayal.

It wasn't a great revelation for Hawke when the bedroom door opened after two hours of staring at the ceiling. Samael sighed – it was both refreshing and disturbing to be right all the time. The boy practically melded into shadows when he started creeping towards the bed, but he had no idea that he was being watched and this whole late night mission was anticipated. One quick glance at the Denerim painting from the boy, before he continued in his inaudible journey towards the bed. It was at this very moment when Hawke started thinking maybe this whole thing wasn't about robbing the vault, but about killing him, since as far as he could tell, the boy was much more interested in the 'sleeping' Hawke than vault.

Hein found himself standing by the bed, frozen on the spot, when he realized what he was about to do. There was no reason not to steal from a rich stranger, then disappear and maybe buy himself a house, start a business, get a job and live happily ever after. Someplace nice, someplace warm and friendly. All he had to do was to raise his hands, take gold and go. Hawke was to blame after all, for the reason that Hein was left all alone, after his fellows were slaughtered when they attempted to rape and rob that Chantry sister! Yes, they weren't his family nor his friends, but they were his guarantee that Hein would have a bed and hot meal by the end of the day. And Hawke took this certainty from him, throwing the young boy into starvation and despair.

_What's __going __on __here? __Why __does __he __keep __staring __at __me?__ Why __doesn't __he __simply __take __the __gold __so __I __can __cut __him __down?_

Hawke started to doubt himself, having no clue why he felt like bringing this child into his home in the first place. But there was no other possibility than to continue with the show and wait for the lad to finish what he had come here for; whatever that _was_. Hawke almost blew his cover when he felt a cold bony finger brushing away a strand of hair off his face, as the lad knelt beside the bed, watching the sleeping Hawke and listening to his rhythmic breathing. Did every assassin gently touch his target before he finished him off? It was like Hein had heard Samael's restless thoughts when he pulled himself up and finally crept to the vault, pushing the painting hesitantly sideways.

_Ah__… __so, __just __a __petty __thief. __How __disappointing. __How__… __dull._

Hein hefted the pouches of gold he had found inside, then rummaged through the pile of business contracts. Finally he opened one pouch and peered inside, speechless. The gold reflected itself in the lad's widened hazel eyes as he shyly touched a sovereign. Time seemed to stop. Mammon smiled at the skinny lad as he slowly put three fat pouches with gold into his borrowed trousers, then he kept gaping into the vault, motionless. Heavy raindrops hammered on the windows, wind howled in the fireplace chimney and it was like Hein had woken just up, as he glanced wildly around him only to realize the bed was empty and Hawke was probably standing right behind him, ready to kill him as he would any other thief stupid enough to cross his path.

"Put it back, little rabbit." A lazy voice ripped the silence apart and the lad gulped. "Eh-eh," Hawke chuckled mirthlessly and jabbed the tip of his dagger into the lad's back when Hein tried to turn around and face him, probably with some heartbreaking story about his shitty life and that he had no choice but to steal. Hein put one contract and three pouches of gold back into vault and slowly closed the painting, having no idea what would happen next. He didn't try to run, since it would be pointless anyway; Hawke could kill him anytime he liked.

"So… deciding to help yourself to a small fortune? My, my, such _unexpected_ ingratitude from such a _bright __boy_. I almost bought that innocent face of yours." Hawke mocked the lad, squeezed his shoulder and turned him roughly around, since now he perversely craved to see his face, his set jaw, maybe tiny tears of abasement in his eyes. "Look at me," he hissed when Hein wasn't able to look into his face. The hand holding Samael's dagger started creeping up until the boy felt the chilling steel on his throat. "I said look at me!" Hawke snatched the boy's chin and forced him to do it. Maybe it was this harsh touch of Hawke's hand on his body or his acrid words what had ripped Hein out of his listless musing.

"You had no right…" Hein whispered disjointedly, shaking his head mildly.

"YOU HAD NO FUCKING RIGHT!" he threw himself at Hawke who managed to lower the weapon just in time, so the boy wouldn't stick himself on it. They wrestled in silence, Hein putting all his remaining strength into this fight, Hawke more like holding himself back from killing the lad on the spot or at least breaking any of his fragile bones to hurt him.

"No right to do what?" Samael scoffed and started systematically immobilizing the struggling lad by pinning him to the carpet.

"You should have killed me along with the others that night! You should have finished what you started!" Hein screamed right into his face. "You were supposed to kill me and end it all!" He started wriggling ferociously out of Hawke's grasp. "Not condemn me to living a life I _hate_!" Hein was shaking uncontrollably now, his nerves so vexed that he almost started to cry hysterically. Hawke was at a loss. Was the lad really complaining about Samael sparing his life back then? He begged for it that night, damn it! Yet he was now glaring at Hawke like he was to blame for a fucked up life of yet another insignificant lost soul who had tried to steal from him.

"Stop… fighting… me," Hawke hissed into his ear when the lad kept struggling; the assassin's arms still snaked around the slender body tightly. Oh, how many times had Samael been stealing when he was young? How many times he had gotten caught, beaten up, kicked down? And how he prayed for a person who would have told him there was another way indeed, that he had an actual choice, a free will to choose to live a life he would like? Looking at Hein in that moment was like looking at himself through a broken mirror. He saw in him the same painful loneliness, the same hunger for his life to have a meaning, the same despair of a person who had no choice but to feed on fools, steal from them and occasionally be able to have enough money for a bed and hot meal.

The crude memories devoured Samael as he finally let go of the boy, got up and sat down on the bed with his head in palms. How did this happen? Why he was haunted again by the suppressed dark memories slumbering deep in his mind? Of course, this peculiar boy was to blame here no doubt!

"Run, little rabbit." Hein crawled on all fours to the bed and sat down by Hawke's ankles cautiously. He continued when Samael shot a baffled glance at him through his fingers. "The last words you told me that night. And I ran away, just like you ordered me to."

"You should know better by now than to take orders from somebody like me." Hawke finally uncovered his face. "Now get out," he gestured towards the door and raised an eyebrow when Hein's eyes glanced at the door, but the lad stayed motionless.

"I'm done running." Hein slowly shook his head, watching Hawke with his eyes burning in both hope and fear.

"Good for you. Now get out," Hawke repeated his order, a naked menace in his voice now. "You must think I'm royally stupid!" he shouted when the lad just curled into himself on the carpet. "You tried to rob me! You can't expect me to let you stay here, you vagrant! How could I? I don't even know you!" Hawke no longer knew if he was arguing with the boy or with himself, as he jumped up and pulled the boy up with him. "Go now before I lose my patience," he whispered, but now it sounded more like a plea to leave him alone to his sorrow.

"Lose your patience then," Hein whispered back, his voice hoarse but audible. Hawke slapped him, hoping he would leave now. Hein straightened up, groping his sore cheek and smiling at the assassin. The lad's ingenuous smile infuriated Samael beyond the point of self-control, as his hand shot out once more and as if it not enough, Hawke kicked the lad straight into his torso. He was so skinny, his body flew backwards before it hit the wall and tumbled down. The borrowed linen under tunic rolled up, revealing Hein's back. The skin was clean now, still bruised though, but something else entirely caught Hawke's attention.

"What is this?" he knelt down by the lying body and drew the boy's clothing aside even more, staring at his back speckled with countless tiny round burns. Samael rolled the boy over, cursing himself that he wasn't able to keep himself from taking his anger on the poor lad. Damned women! Damned Merrill!

"Cigar burns, what else?" Hein set his jaw, crushing the virulent words between his teeth while his eyes were swimming in tears of humiliation, as Hawke had just discovered the way he had been treated by his dead thug leader. The similarities in their lives just became more and more bewildering for Hawke as he slowly gathered the emaciated boy into his arms, and carried him onto the spacious bed. No, he really didn't know what he was doing anymore, when he slipped under the cover as well, folded his arms behind his head again comfortably and ignored the boy staring at him in reverent silence.

Both damaged. Both damned. Samael was Hein's future as much as Hein was Samael's past. A week ago, Hawke seemed to have his life in a perfect order; he decided to keep this estate once he would move along with Merrill back to Fereldan. His agent was currently looking for a suitable estate in Denerim where they could live, the ship was ready to sail, the business meeting with the Carta was successful and the dwarves were willing to continue in lyrium trade.

Now – all his plans were ruined. Merrill had left him and nothing made sense anymore. Aveline was angry with him, Isabela had disappeared, Fawn was gone too. Occela had escaped the City stables, the Arishok warned Hawke about the possibility that he might try to take over the city and on the top of all this mess, he was about to sleep in one bed with a peculiar seventeen year old wanderer who was simply too much like him, that Samael couldn't let him walk away. Not that the boy would attempt to leave judging by his wide-open almond eyes peering at Hawke from beneath the blanket in silence.

_Huh__… __If__ you __want __to __make __the __Maker __laugh, __tell __Him __about __your __plans._

With this final aftermath, Hawke glanced at his new pet in the light of the dying flames in fireplace. "Stop staring at me," he whispered after a moment. The rustle of blankets, hushed giggling and the almond eyes disappeared in the darkness.


	23. Chapter 23

"Keeper?" A slender elven woman approached Merrill, who was roaming up the camp and watching as the morning sun started to color the horizon. She jumped when her bleak thoughts were interrupted and the woman's fixed look told Merrill that this title really belonged to her now.

"Yes?" Merrill turned to her fellow elf, trying her best to sound calm.

"The pyre is ready, Keeper." The woman averted her gaze, but Merrill had noticed her set jaw and glassy eyes, that were no doubt full of tears for Marethari.

"G-good," Merrill stammered. She indeed prayed for some guidance here; something, someone, who would tell her what to do now. "Please spread the word Marethari's pyre will take place today at twilight." Merrill turned her back at the elf like this conversation was over. Suddenly, Marethari's staff strapped on Merrill's back became an unbelievable heavy burden for her, but the ancient law of the Elvhenan people dictated that the Keeper's staff was inheritable and now it was Merrill's turn to bear it.

"How did this happen?" Merrill kept whispering to herself; all alone again. "I didn't want this, I swear, please, I really didn't want this…" she pleaded with her invisible ancestors, her face turned up into the skies. As always, her eyes then fell down to stare at the cold black ring on her finger. The fiery ring stone was blinking at her faintly and the fire burning inside of it seemed to be choking and somehow dying. Merrill wiped a lone tear off her face and headed back to the Dalish camp. _Her_ camp.

oOo

Samael stood by the window with arms folded on his bare chest, watching the same horizon as Merrill. The sun rose above it and lighted up the Hightown roofs. He glanced behind him several times, like he couldn't believe there really was a skinny body in his bed, still in a sound sleep, curled on one side and tightly hugging a huge ball made of pillows and blankets. Hein's naked scraggy back was turned to Hawke now as he realized the boy must have taken off his borrowed under tunic during night and rolled it under his head instead of a pillow, for some unknown reason.

Hawke approached the motionless body cautiously when the first sun beams reached the bedroom and chased the night shadows away. A perfect opportunity to take a good look at those burns without making the boy uncomfortable. Samael scowled involuntarily when he counted thirteen perfectly round cigar burns and two bigger burns which looked like they were caused by hot wax or something similar. The burns had different coloring and at least two of them were quite fresh. They must have been bothering the lad, who obviously had no idea how to treat wounds like these.

Samael brushed his forehead with his palm like he was deciding what to do, before he strolled to a dresser and started poking around an upper drawer that still contained Merrill's potions and salves. He ignored the voice inside him that was telling him to stay away from Merrill's stuff, until he fished out a potent healing potion and Anders' salve for skin scratches and burns; both perfect for this situation since Hein's health seemed to be more than weakened.

Samael had a time-tested medicine for his sorrow, mostly caused by his abandonment. He reached into his closet and pulled out his breakfast; a bottle of fine Antivan whiskey. While he was sauntering back to bed with a salve and a potion in his one hand, a bottle in his other one, he pulled out the bottle cork with his teeth, and spat it across the room. He took a long, desperate swig of oblivion. He grimaced when the strong alcohol burned his throat.

The mattress rocked wildly when Hawke fell into bed again, not realizing Hein had been watching him ever since he went searching for a salve. Another gulp of whiskey and Samael's life seemed to be bearable again.

"Good morning, Master." Quiet words stopped the hand holding the bottle, which was on its way to deliver yet another sip of comfort. Samael decided to play along, although Fenris had taught him to hate slaver-masters and pity their victims.

"Good morning, pet." He sneered at the boy, then went back to staring at ceiling again and drinking his own 'healing potion'. Hein arched an eyebrow when Hawke tossed at him a big vial of light purple liquid and nodded, like the boy was supposed to drink it right away. "Still listening to my orders without an objection, I see…" the assassin grumbled in discontent when the lad drank the vial obediently, licking his lips as a warm tingling sensation started spreading throughout his body. "Lie on your stomach," Hawke whispered after a moment of silence and concentrated boozing.

"Why?" The boy gulped, his voice suddenly hoarse and timid. Something in his voice made Hawke put his bottle away, support himself on an elbow and look at him with his amber eyes narrowed, as he was tried to figure out what was wrong.

_He__ was __smiling __at __me __a __second __ago, __ready __to __drink __whatever __poison __I__ could __have __given __him__… __Now __he__'__s __staring __at __me __like __I __have __three __heads __and __I__'__m __about __to __devour __children __for __breakfast. __What __the __hell__…__? __Why __this __mood __swing? __Unless__…_

Hawke began to think he understood why he had glimpsed pure fear, yet also utter submission in the boy's eyes. Like he was resolved to do anything what Hawke demanded of him.

_Does __he __think __I __want __to__… __have my way with him__? __Fucking __Gods __above, __do __I __make __the __impression __I __have __a __soft __spot __for __young__ boys __or __something?_

Hawke couldn't find proper words to describe his confusion over Hein's odd reaction, so he just raised a hand holding a healing salve to show him he had no sordid intentions whatsoever - like fucking his young ass. He just intended to help him and make the pain go away, nothing else.

"A salve." Hawke glanced at his own hand to convince himself that there was definitively a salve as Hein kept staring at Hawke's hand and face in turns. "For your burns," the assassin explained when the boy stayed silent and motionless.

"I don't need… Nothing… I mean… Please… I don't need it—" the boy rambled and hid his torso beneath a blanket.

"All right." Hawke replied in pretended indifference. He put the small box with the salve between them and went back to his whiskey and thoughts. It was like Hawke wasn't aware of the boy gaping at him, his gaunt fingers clenching the blanket so tightly, that his hand knuckles were white and prominent. When Hein saw Hawke wasn't about to do anything with him or to him, he relaxed. Still oblivious to the fidgeting lad, Hawke started examining his fingernails, smiling almost imperceptibly when the boy hesitantly took the salve box into his hand, while he scratched mindlessly at one of the throbbing burns on his lower back. He opened the box and sniffed its content; a yellowy goo that reeked of rotten eggs. He turned his mute face to Hawke and waited.

"Yes?" Samael decided to make it easier for the lad when it was clear he wouldn't ask Hawke to rub the salve on the burns. Still silent, Hein returned the salve box to Hawke and lay on his stomach with a blanket still coiled around him firmly. Samael rolled his eyes from this strange game full of unspoken words and undisclosed signs. He tugged at the blanket gently until it slipped down, revealing the burns on the pale skin of Hein's back. The boy gasped and twitched when Hawke's finger, coated in salve, touched his skin. But he calmed down when Samael kept rubbing in silence, clearly focusing on just the injuries.

"Let it dry by itself," the assassin whispered when he was done, but his words were futile since he realized the boy had fallen asleep again. Hawke just shook his head. He had to admit the boy was a great distraction indeed, since he had forgotten completely about Merrill.

oOo

"Everything is prepared, Messere." Bodahn nodded at his master and led him to the back door which lead to the garden. "I think you'll be satisfied with the horse. He's little, I know, but he looks really strong and resilient. I put some food into the bag on the left, your bedroll is stuffed in the right and-" Bodahn went on and on, and Hawke couldn't help but be genuinely annoyed by his over-protectiveness.

"Maker, relax, Bodahn. I just need a few days to myself. Stop fussing over me like I'm doing this for the first time. Because I'm not, in case you haven't noticed." Samael put his hand on the dwarf's shoulder and gave him a warm smile. "I leave Charon here to guard you and the estate, so—"

"Where are you going?" A quiet voice from upstairs entered the conversation, rudely interrupting the assassin. Hawke turned around. His eyes found the boy leaning on a balustrade, and he saw pure panic on his face although the lad tried to hide it.

"Taking a vacation for a few days." Samael sneered at the boy. Actually he had no idea why he even bothered to reply. As soon as he realized this, he turned back to the dwarf.

"Take me with you." Hein appeared right behind Hawke and plucked shyly his heavy travelling coat. Hawke intended to ignore this demand, but the boy seemed too cheeky to accept his silence. He marched right in the middle of the dwarf and the assassin, looking up into Hawke's face. "I can hunt, I can cook. I can keep you… entertained." The lad started listing in vigor all of his skills, but Hawke silenced him with his raised palm.

"Leave us." Samael glanced at Bodahn, who looked like he would love to grab the boy by his neckline and toss him out of the mansion. He granted his master a subtle bow and stomped into the kitchen to show the boy how to fulfill an order.

Once they were alone, Samael had no clue what should he say. He just needed a few days off, desperately. Just a few days without people around him. It was selfish indeed, but also necessary.

"Let me get this straight, little rabbit." Hawke forced the boy to step backwards until his back hit the wall and Samael had him right on the spot he liked; vulnerable and cornered. "You probably faked your impressive faintness and you took advantage of my kind, soft heart and foolish nature when I accepted you in my mansion. You repaid me with your pathetic attempt to steal from me. Here comes my bewildering good-natured character again, since I allowed you to sleep here and I tended to your injuries. And now you dare to demand something from me?" Samael's hushed voice was more frightening than if he was shouting.

"I did _not_ plan on stealing from you!" The boy stuck his chin forward boldly to underline his reply.

"Yeah, whatever." Hawke waved his hand like he wouldn't argue with wind, but Hein caught his hand and made a step forward.

"Why are you punishing yourself? Why do you have to go all alone? What are you running away from? Or maybe _whom_?" The boy realized too late that his words set those amber eyes in front of him on fire. Samael's short temper blew when he pushed the boy roughly away from him.

"What… How… Why did you say that? You know next to **shit** about me and my life!" he hissed into the boy's face, as he imprisoned him in the corner again, with his arms leaning on the wall.

"Please, take me with you." Hein repeated his plea, only now his voice sounded spooked as his eyes were sliding along Hawke's muscular arms. After this stubborn demand, Samael just threw his arms in the air, like he gave up. He started pacing around the main hall in disquiet after he had thrown his small bag into an armchair. He wasn't about to take a complete stranger with him, was he? It would be against everything his father had taught him to keep him alive and safe, damn it! Do not trust strangers, son. Damn it! Do not trust anybody, son! But what if the lad was right? Why should he go just by himself, not even with the mabari? Yes, Merrill left him, but it didn't mean Hawke should cut himself off from the rest of the world and suffer silently in the woods. What if he decided to break the rules? He had done that last night anyway, when he took the boy in. Hawke whirled around to face the boy again and their eyes met in silence.

"No talking. Only when I allow you to. No questioning my decisions and definitely no defiance. If you wield any weapon, this would be a great moment to mention it. Questions?" Samael arched an eyebrow when Hein shook his head keenly. "Good." Samael's eyes lingered at the smiling lad, but he regretted this decision already.

oOo

"Archibald."

"You must be joking. He doesn't look like Archibald."

"Kessan then. Look! Look, he likes the name!" Hein patted the snorting little horse and turned his laughing face back to Hawke.

"Archibald, Kessan, I really don't care." Hawke grimaced at both of them. "But I'll gut him and roast him on the first fire if he breaks any of my whiskey bottles." Hawke's coarse joke was rewarded with an apple Hein had thrown at him with all his might; guffawing, Hawke caught it just a second before it hit his head. "Delicious," Hawke scoffed before he sunk his teeth into the red fruit and once again he found himself staring at the giggling boy. He wore one of Hawke's old armor sets, high black boots and a worn brown coat, but it all looked great on him, although even the armor couldn't hide that unhealthy thinness and pale skin. Samael's birthday bow was sheathed on his back, since Hawke intended to train with it.

It came to the assassin he would have probably been crawling in silence through these Kirkwall outskirts, brooding, lost in somber thoughts, if he left Kirkwall alone like he intended. Instead of that, he was jesting, breathing in the fresh breeze happily and turning his face to catch the last sun rays before the early sunset with a smile on his lips. The horse seemed to carry his burden patiently and without any difficulties; he had nothing but two bedrolls, some food, whiskey, and weapons on his back after all. Hawke realized only now there was a lyre too, peering at him from the right bag.

"Where are we going?" Hein waited for Hawke and braved asking the question, since Hawke looked at ease and in good mood.

"Actually, I… don't know." Samael started laughing, took the reins from the lad and kept walking down the path.

oOo

"You drink too much." Hein dared stating the obvious.

"You talk too much." Samael countered with a venomous reply, reminding the boy about his non-talking rule. Hawke had hunted down a young doe and their dinner tasted delicious, especially along with Bodahn's boiled potatoes, fruit and pie. "Eat, you skinny frog." Samael belched and gestured at the fresh meat roast. Hein's eyes followed the half-empty whiskey bottle Hawke was drinking, but he got up obediently and had another piece of meat, although he felt surfeited already. When they finished eating, they simply seated themselves around a fire in silence, watching the dancing flames and listening to sounds of evening in the woods.

"So? You claimed to keep me entertained. Bring it up, then." Hawke finished his bottle and smashed it against the tree trunk. Hein was very quiet like he still expected any minute Hawke would swoop upon him and kill him, or worse. But he just seemed to be as he always was – calm, uncaring and with an arrogant mask on his face.

"I've spent a few years among the pirates, Serah Hawke. Maybe you would like to hear a few stories about the pirates?" Hein smiled at his master, but it was an insecure smile full of distant pain.

"Pirates? Huh, you don't say." Hawke's eyes flashed as they reflected the fire. "You don't seem like that type, you know?" he kept nagging the boy with a teasing smile. Hein looked peeved that Hawke clearly considered him a virtuous innocent lad who just got lost in Kirkwall and kept the wrong company.

"Me'n'th' crew seen a great grand sea beastie, th' mother of all whales, aye!" Hein exclaimed merrily, pulled a cork out of yet another whiskey bottle, spat it at the assassin and took a generous gulp. Hawke watched in disbelief at lad choking on the strong whiskey, before he burst out in roaring laughter until he fell down from his dead tree trunk seat.

"Not without a talent, I see…" Samael kept guffawing and smeared the tears of joy on his face. Hein stood up to make a curtsy while smiling at Hawke's drunk reaction.

They kept joking and laughing until the fire was just flickering and they were too lazy to go for more wood. They both crawled into their bedrolls and kept staring into the skies above them in silence.

"Serah Hawke…" the lad whispered and glanced at his master to see for himself if he had fallen asleep.

"Hm?" Samael droned, the stars reflecting in his widened eyes, his face serious. It wasn't hard to guess of whom Hawke was thinking.

"I'm afraid we have to think of a new name for our horsie." Hein whispered and turned in his bedroll to face Hawke.

"Why?" Hawke raised an eyebrow, not taking his eyes from the sky.

"Because he's probably… a _lady_." Hein tittered and glanced at the little horse.

"That certainly changes everything." Samael yawned and smiled for himself. "Sleep, little rabbit."

oOo

Day after day was passing in the woods and Hein had to teach himself to react properly to Hawke's countless mood swings. When the assassin fell silent or suddenly stood up and left the boy without a word, it wasn't wise to disturb him or - Maker forbid - talk to him. When Hawke patted the little horse or he started a conversation, it was good time to ask questions or try to cheer him up a little. And then there were moments when nobody dared approaching the assassin; not even the flies it seemed, usually when his eyes were shooting fire in all four directions, he kept crushing curses between his teeth and grabbing at his katana or his daggers, before going off to practice.

After one of these lonesome workouts, Hawke returned utterly spent and deadened, while water dripped from him, since obviously he had jumped into a pool right after his practice to get clean again. He hadn't said a word to the lad that day, but Hein seemed completely at ease as he lounged around, singing to the fire and poking a stick into it. He watched Hawke when he tossed his drenched jerkin on a branch to dry there, then he coiled his coat around his body to warm himself up. Still without a glance at the boy, Samael strolled to the fire and seated himself on a rock; his eyes hypnotizing the flames. A pewter bowl with hot meat and blackberries on the side appeared in front of Hawke, who jerked when he realized the boy probably had been watching him the whole time.

"Thank you." Hawke muttered and took a bowl from the boy. The old habits died hard though, so Samael sniffed his dinner cautiously when Hein turned away and started rummaging through a bag. When he returned to Samael, there was a lyre in his hand. Hein sat down by Hawke's knees, squirmed on the fallen leaves, while he was thinking how to scratch that silent mask off Hawke's face. He remembered Samael's smile when he talked about the pirates and he figured this would be the right way to do it. The lad's fingers stroked the lyre thoughtfully as Hein gazed up into his master's face, only to realize Hawke was watching him in suspense, his fingers toying with a blackberry. Hein smiled faintly when distant words of an old song reached his mind and he realized in awe he still remembered those words his father had been singing to him during those long sleepless nights on the raging sea.

_Oh, better far to live and die_

_Under the cursed black flag I fly,_

_Than play a sanctimonious part,_

_With a pirate head and a pirate heart._

_Away to the cheating world go you,_

_Where pirates all are well-to-do;_

_But I'll be true to the song I sing,_

_And live and die a Pirate King._

_Yo, ho, he, ho_

_There are men whose hearts are as black as coal_

_And they sail their ship across the ocean blue._

_A Blood thirsty captain and a cut throat crew._

_It's a darker tale as was ever told_

_Of a lust for treasure and a love of gold._

The air was still trembling with the sound of lyre's strings as the boy sang the last words quietly and then his voice died away. Lost in his thoughts, Hein couldn't see that Hawke was listening to him intently and he had stopped eating, since something in the lad's voice caught his attention.

"I'm heading home tomorrow." Samael's hesitant voice ripped the silence apart.

"So soon…" Hein breathed out, not looking up, his fingers still clenching the slender throat of lyre. Samael had been thinking about the peculiar boy every damned day, but he saw only one solution here.

"Our paths will go their separate ways from tomorrow." Hawke felt awkward when Hein turned his widened almond eyes at him, but a simple nod told Hawke the lad had understood. Restless, Samael grasped his katana and started cleaning it, while his back was turned from the boy. Only an almost inaudible rustle of a blanketed and choked sob told him Hein decided to turn in and he desired to be left alone.

oOo

Samael woke up in the middle of night and it took him a while to realize Hein was kneeling by him and shaking him mildly. Hawke shot a warning glance at the boy's hand lingering on his chest and Hein jerked and pulled it back.

"Messere Hawke—" Hein stammered and looked wildly around him like somebody was about to attack them.

"What is it?" The assassin whispered in reply, suddenly very much awake. He wondered just for a second how he could sleep so blissfully, that apparently something so important had escaped his attention. Their camp was on a small glade and was drowned in milky white shreds of mist; yet there was something disturbing about it. Only now Hawke noticed the mist was… reddish.

"Kirkwall, Messere Hawke." The boy sat down heavily, not taking his terrified eyes off Hawke's face. "Kirkwall is burning." He coughed in uneasiness, when he got no reaction from the proud assassin; only a brief shadow of realization running across his brooding face. Samael slowly rose from his bedroll, unwrapping the blanket loosely around his body while he made a few steps forward, so that he had a better view of the hill which was blocking the view of the city. The horizon was enveloped in ominous ruddy shadows and there was no doubt something was going on in Kirkwall.

"Huh… Sooner than I thought. It wasn't wise to do this before, nor is it wise now, Arishok." Samael murmured to himself, shaking his head as he glanced up at veiled stars above him like he was asking them what would happen next.

"You… knew?" Hein shot the prodding question at Hawke and the assassin narrowed his eyes when he caught an accusatory undertone in the lad's voice. "That's why you left? Because you knew the Qunari would attack the city? You… You—" Judging by Hein's widened eyes and pure outrage in his face; he wasn't far from tearing Hawke apart. Samael wasn't curious about the preaching coming from a young petty thief though, so – just to be sure – he jumped at him first.

"Me what, little rabbit? Why don't you finish your chain of thought?" Samael appeared behind Hein's back, one of his arms snaking around him while the other one found his throat and squeezed mercilessly. "It's quite bewildering how quickly you got used to being around me, talking to me and preaching to me about good old manners, huh?" The assassin was now whispering into the boy's ear, but his eyes were still set at the crimson horizon. He had to admit he had grown quite fond of the young rogue too, but he wouldn't say it out loud of course. Hawke's vicious attack was about to be punished since the struggling lad went limp in his arms and Samael thought for a second he had squeezed the slender throat too much. He loosened his grasp on the boy and turned him around gently, searching his darkened face.

Not wishing to talk to the peculiar boy anymore, Hawke brought him back to his bedroll, tucked him in like a child and made sure the blanket was properly protecting him from the early morning chill. The boy's eyebrows were knitted together as he watched Hawke in silence, wondering how he could remain so cold and calm when his estate could be on fire right now.

"Will you do… nothing?" Hein squeaked and stopped Hawke before he could straighten up and walk away.

"Sleep, rabbit. There's nothing we can do right now." Hawke heard himself replying and he was genuinely astounded that his voice sounded so casual and steady, although he felt nothing but consuming disquiet in his mind. The lad nodded and forced himself to close his eyes. Lost in his whirling thoughts, Samael started sauntering around the glade. Even the sighs of the breeze were louder than his steps.

oOo

"Why do they ignore us? Why don't they fight us?" Hein couldn't bear the silence anymore and burst out. They were sneaking through Kirkwall and this was a third karataam which just glanced at Hawke and let them pass in silence. This time Hein was able to catch an almost imperceptible bow that one Qunari gave Hawke and he demanded the assassin would tell him what was going on.

Samael shook his head when they were walking by the burning house of Ichabod Bane in Lowtown; pure mayhem and panic around them.

"We need to hurry." Samael growled in reply finally, dismissing the topic.

"Why don't the Qunari attack us?" Hein insisted on his question with puckered lips as he snatched Hawke's arm in vigor.

"Because they were ordered not to, damn it!" Samael almost shouted at the boy as a group of spongers, looting an abandoned shop, turned in their way. Hawke just snorted and bore his teeth at them, while he unsheathed his katana with a slow fluid move, like he would happily oblige and cut their heads of if they were stupid enough to approach him.

They continued in their hasted journey to the Hawke estate, dragging the poor tired little horse behind them. Samael felt his heart pounding faster and faster as he pictured in his mind his half-burnt mansion, Bodahn lamenting over his dead son's body, the servants killed, treasure stolen… Hawke shook his head to chase away the gruesome images and he almost ran those few last steps to his estate.

Hawke opened the front door inaudibly and gulped when he heard choked screams coming from upstairs, then loud thuds and sounds of a fight.

"Stay here with Archibald or whatever name you gave him. I mean her." Hawke whispered to the lad, but his eyes were burning with murder and they were stuck at the stairs leading to his bedroom.

"But—" Hein intended to come with him, but one scorching gaze from the assassin convinced him to shut up instead. He watched Hawke creeping upstairs, then he disappeared. Samael kicked the bedroom door wide open and a peculiar scene opened up to him. How he was able to joke even now, he would never know.

"Knock, knock!" Hawke sneered at three scoundrels attacking Bodahn who had just a short sword and was injured badly. "Now you're supposed to say 'who's there?' morons." Hawke pointed the katana in their direction; the looters still speechless. "And I would say 'naughty, naughty boys, mamma's home!'" Hawke yelled those last words and launched forward to deal with them. Their blood started coloring the expensive carpet when Hawke caught Bodahn's exhausted body, collapsing down.

"You're back, Messere. Thank the Paragons, you're back." Bodahn sighed in relief and Samael realized there were just skin cuts on Bodahn's body; nothing serious.

"I'm so sorry. So sorry, Bodahn…" Hawke shook his head, whispering his desperate apologies for not protecting his most faithful servant. "Where are the others?" he asked frantically, afraid of the answer.

"You won't believe this, Messere, but your mabari led Sandal and the servants to safety and my son blew up a part of the basement so these scum wouldn't follow them." A proud smile sprawled out on the old dwarf's face.

"Clever boy," Hawke smiled and helped Bodahn to stand up again. "But why didn't you go with them, Bodahn?"

"Well, I decided to stay of course and defend your property, Messere." The old dwarf looked genuinely puzzled why Hawke had even asked the question. Wasn't his loyalty to Hawke crystal clear by now?

"War conference, my brother. Will you attend?" A familiar husky voice made Samael twitch and whirl around. He stalked to the elf, observing his blood-stained armor, sweaty forehead and the hand clenching a wound on his torso.

"You look… awful." Samael remarked and put his hand on Fenris' shoulder.

"And you're late." The elf sneered in reply, but he did mirror him with his brief tender gesture.

"That's all very touching, mes chou-chou-amis, like the Orlesians would say, but we're a little busy right now. Don't you think?" Varric peered into the bedroom, a bloody pansement wrapped around his forehead.

"What's the situation, Varric?" Samael let go of his elf and turned to the dwarf who was dusting his coat.

"Well, to confirm the obvious, our huge horn-headed friends lost patience and attacked the city. They keep dragging nobles into the Keep, they're terrorizing the whole city, the Viscount is holed up in his office, ever since his son Saemus was murdered last night at the Chantry and—"

"WHAAAT…?" Samael interrupted the dwarf, shouting in disbelief.

"I bet now you regret that you weren't here and missed the fun, our mighty hero." Varric smirked, observing his fingernails.

"Who did it?" Samael asked, a rage boiling the blood in his veins.

"Well, take your pick." Varric bowed sardonically. "Mother Petrice. A suspect in many run-ins with the Qunari. A grey eminence lurking in shadows, striking from behind and stirring otherwise calm waters of Kirkwall."

"Enough, you half-tall buffoon." Hawke murmured and raised a palm to stop Varric's garrulous outburst. "I need to think." The assassin rubbed his forehead, realizing they were all waiting for him to say something, order them to do something. "Where are the others?" Hawke finally spoke again, still rubbing his face.

"Darktown is flooded with wounded people, so Anders won't help unless he heals everybody there. So he's off the hook." Surprisingly, they were Fenris' words.

"Isabela is still nowhere to be found." Now it was Varric's turn to look exhausted and worried. "Sebastian is guarding the Grand Cleric and his precious Chantry," he continued, "and Aveline—" the dwarf fell silent, shaking his head.

"What happened to her?" Samael's fiery eyes widened in fear.

"I told her not to meddle. But she offered herself to the Qunari in exchange for her men, so they could help people on the streets." Varric shook his head again like Aveline was surely dead by now.

"Silly, prissy, righteous, over-protective idiotic - argh!" Hawke punched the wall. Fenris and the two dwarves just watched this extreme reaction in awe. "This was not supposed to happen. Damn it. This wasn't the deal here, fuck!" Samael kept droning to himself, pounding his head softly on the wall.

"You knew about this, Hawke?" Varric asked cautiously when he put two and two together. "The Arishok told you this would happen?"

"Yes." Hawke had just this terse honest reply for his staring friends. "But not like this. Now I have to go and remind him of our deal which included all my friends and their homes. Damn! Ichabod's mansion is already burning, by the way," he whispered and leaned on the wall with his both arms.

"I know." A deep voice remarked, making them all turn around. Ichabod Bane walked in along with the boy, who had obviously heard everything which had been said. "So, what's the plan?" Bane asked nobody particular.

"I'm heading to the Viscount's Keep now," Hawke droned and his eyes flashed with implacable flames. "Varric, Fenris, Ichabod with me," he continued, although Bane's name seemed be very hard to say out loud. He had no choice though; the way to the Keep would be strenuous no doubt and he needed all capable companions with him. Ichabod had proven his qualities when he saved Hawke in Lowtown, although he didn't admit it. Hawke was contemplating his plan, when Hein's ardent voice entered the silence.

"I can fight!"

"NO!" Hawke replied quickly and he realized too late he sounded like he cared for the lad so much, that he wouldn't put him in danger. "I need you to take Bodahn and the others to Darktown to Anders' clinic. He'll take care of the injuries and you all will be safe there." Hawke tried to explain his reluctance to take the boy with him. To his relief, Hein just lowered his head in submission and nodded.

"Everyone ready?" Hawke cleaned his crimson blade with a handkerchief. "Because this will be quite a stunt." Hawke grinned at his friends and sheathed his weapon, ignoring the black ring burning on his finger.


	24. Chapter 24

"Don't you want to tell us something, Hawke?" Varric said while balancing his beloved Bianca in his calloused hands and shooting an inquisitive glare at their silent leader.

"I would appreciate some explanation, too, Hawke." Fenris scratched cautiously his nose with the tip of his sharp glove, and although he intended to look serious, he managed to look somehow funny, crinkling his nose while scratching it.

"What explanation? We can't waste our time with pointless talk right now. Maker knows how many nobles Aveline is trying to save with her own skin right now. And we still have no clue where Isabela is, so…" Samael tried to wriggle out of their questions as he quickened his pace.

"Well, something must be going on. Every Qunari we've encountered glanced at you and left us alone." Ichabod halted and leaned on his sword borrowed from Hawke's vast collection of weapons. He realized a second later he should have played his part instead of asking questions. He wanted to come to the Viscount's Keep just to keep an eye on his son and make sure he wouldn't do something stupid; nothing else. "I mean," Ichabod coughed and squinted at Varric who begged him with his eyes to stop talking. "Every horn-head we've seen just feeeeeee, and off he ran like we don't exist." Bane gestured with his hand how quickly the Qunari were running out of their way once they'd spotted Hawke.

"Well, I might have or might have not orchestrated some deal with the Arishok to leave me and several other people out of this. That's all you need to know. As you can see, the deal isn't working properly since the Guards Captain through her own stupidity and ridiculous wish to save everybody exchanged herself for her men, so they could help people on the streets during the Qunari invasion. And Ichabod's burning mansion isn't a great comfort either, so —" Hawke added and he rather gulped the next part since he had already said too much.

"But how? Why? Don't try to smear honey around my beardless mouth, Hawke. Are you trying to say you're now a Qunari-lover or something?" Varric wanted to know truth.

"And here's the Chantry, gentlemen. Shall we?" Hawke scowled at the meddlesome dwarf and started climbing up the stairs leading to the Maker's house.

"Why are we even stopping here is beyond me." Fenris snorted and observed several wounded Templars lying along the Chantry wall.

"I don't like Sebastian either, but he did help us countless times and I've decided to check on anyone who was supposed to be under my protection, Fenris." Hawke leaned closer to his elf, whispering those words because they were meant just for his ears. "Bah, so many Templars. Good that Merrill isn't… here." Samael muttered under his nose and cursed himself immediately since he had forbidden himself even thinking about her.

"Hawke! I am relieved to see you standing and unharmed. What brings you here?" Vael pushed his way through the Templars and scurrying Chantry Sisters to Hawke and his companions. Samael observed the prince carefully, but his armor was spotless and he didn't seem to fight the Qunari, which was confirmed with his next sentence. "Elthina banned me from fighting the invaders, although I would love to go out and empty my quiver into those heathens." Sebastian's smooth aristocratic face twisted into an outraged mask.

"Ah, well, glad to see you're well-protected in the Chantry." Samael channeled a bit sardonic bow towards the Starkhaven prince. "Aveline and Bela are currently missing and we're looking for them, so we have to go now." Hawke sighed, shook his head and headed for the door.

"Serah Hawke." A sly voice stopped the assassin from leaving the Chantry. "Your presence here astonishes me indeed, but I did not expect you to sit on your hands either, while your Kossith friends are attacking the city." Mother Petrice, her arms folded on chest, came out of a dark alcove filled with moaning injured people. Her expression could have been easily described as a triumphant.

"You forgot to add they're _finally_ attacking the city, Petrice." Hawke frowned at her, while slowly approaching her. "Because nobody put more efforts to stir this war than you did." Samael hissed right into her face. "I didn't involve myself much into this secret campaign you've been leading, but it doesn't mean I haven't been watching you and your zealots all the time."

"Back off, you highwayman." Petrice made a hesitant step back. "Don't you forget where you are and who I am!" She straightened up and glanced around to make sure she was still surrounded by many Templars, several Guards, and Sisters of the Chantry. "You can't touch me, Serah Hawke. The Maker's will is clear now and Kirkwallers need to deal with those filthy Qunari stains on our beautiful pious city." Petrice leaned so close to the assassin now, so nobody would hear her gloating over her fulfilled plans. When she pulled away, Hawke was panting, infuriated, and clenching his fists to prevent himself from striking down this scheming woman who was supposed to help people and pray in her precious silent Chantry. Petrice sneered broadly when she noticed Hawke had no reply for her bragging. "And now scram, mercenary." Petrice purred and dusted her robes. "Go kill something grey and horn-headed or do us both a favor and die while trying." Petrice laughed and strolled away with a condescending smirk on her face.

"Hawke…?" Varric patted cautiously Samael's shaking shoulder. Obviously the dwarf had difficulties fathoming why the assassin didn't argue with the Mother or at least threaten her a little, although those threats would have been just empty words right now – nothing more.

"We have to go." Samael crushed these words between his clenched teeth, his fiery eyes still jabbed into Petrice's back. She might have considered her goal as fulfilled, but for Hawke this wasn't over by a long shot.

oOo

Hawke's group encountered only Carta thugs who were looting abandoned Hightown mansions and he had to admit, killing them was a great way to let out some steam. The disquiet inside of the assassin was growing with every step closer to the Keep and his companions were unusually quiet as well. What was waiting for them in the Keep? Where was the Viscount? What happened to Aveline? In whose damned bed had Isabela been hiding for the last several days?

"Hawke…" Varric hissed and stopped others with his raised palm. They all peered around the corner at whatever caught the dwarf's attention. Scattered around the whole Hightown square, there were Qunari corpses intertwined in deadly embrace with the Templars, Guardsmen and even a few Circle mages. Everybody dead and apparently after a vicious fight. A lone huge silhouette, enveloped in smothering smoke, coming from the burning mansion, stood in the middle of this mess, motionless, calm and clearly lost in thoughts.

"A Saarebas," Hawke breathed out while glancing around, obviously looking for his leash master. "His Arvaarad is dead, I suppose." Samael sauntered towards the giant Qunari, but his hand was clasped firmly around the katana hilt, ready to cut him down if necessary. "Uhm, Saarebas? Do you understand me?" Hawke's hand reached slowly for a leash and the Saarebas turned his masked face to him.

"C'mon, Hawke, you can't be serious. Let me shoot that overgrown _thing_!" Varric lost his patience, stroking Bianca impatiently.

"He won't attack us now when he lost his leash master. I'll take him to the Keep." Samael didn't even dare looking at his companions and their reaction at his charitable intent. Ichabod shook his head, but kept his thoughts about this mad idea for himself, Fenris rolled his emerald eyes and exchanged a disapproving gaze with the dwarf.

"I think we've got a survivor!" Ichabod remarked after a moment of silent examining the corpses. He rolled gently a man in long dark robes on his back, his hand fumbling for a healing potion in a small holdall, which was on his belt.

"Hum, an elf." Hawke strolled close enough to take a look at the stranger. "I haven't seen him before." The assassin poked the slender body with his boot, making the lyrium warrior giggle since the survivor was obviously a mage.

"No need to fret, elf." Hawke chuckled when the mage opened his eyes finally, blinking and groping his sore head before he started realizing he was still alive and surrounded with unfamiliar faces.

"Many thanks, friends. I am First Enchanter Orsino." The mage glanced around, his eyes widening with every dead body he had spotted. "What— How—" Orsino stammered when he saw who was standing behind Hawke – a huge Saarebas, who seemed totally oblivious to what was happening around him. "You have… a Qunari with you." Orsino's surprised eyes found Hawke, like he expected him to negate this statement.

"No need to be afraid of him either, Orsino. I suggest you go to the Chantry now and get a healer." Hawke reached an arm towards the still lying elf, who grasped it in gratitude and let himself to be pulled up on his feeble feet.

"First Enchanter Orsino, you survived." An unfamiliar arrogant voice came from around a column. "What a relief," the same voice snorted and a tall woman emerged from the smoke coming from the still burning house. Her armor was blood-stained and she was older than Samael would prefer, yet an odd strength and spirit was emanating from her, however tired she looked now. But the first thing the assassin had noticed were her eyes; bright blue clefts shooting ice at anybody who dared looking into them.

"Your joy over my survival overwhelms me, Knight-Commander Meredith." Suddenly Orsino's voice turned from velvety to somewhat pungent. But Hawke was much more interested in Meredith since this was the woman who had arranged many attempts to hunt down Merrill and only Samael's powerful friends and his own growing influence in this city made her attempts futile.

"Knight-Commander," Hawke nodded at her coldly, making sure she caught his own "overwhelming joy" about this unexpected encounter.

"I know you." Meredith's eyes narrowed when her freezing gaze landed on the unconcerned assassin. "I read the name Hawke in many of my reports. Can't say I would appreciate your bewildering _contribution_ to this city, Fereldan mercenary." The Knight-Commander wanted to continue, but her eyes then spotted the poorly hidden Saarebas. Her response was clear here, since her hand ripped a sword from its sheathe.

"That Qunari is mine, Meredith." Hawke made a step forward, so he stood in Meredith's way now. Ah, he had heard well indeed his friends hissing at him to let Meredith have the head of this Qunari mage, but he simply didn't care.

"Mrmhhhhuuum." The Saarebas grumbled and sauntered by Hawke's side.

"Nice speech, my pet." The assassin sneered and poked his elbow into the giant by his side. "Everything he said is true. He's harmless and I am his Master, Knight-Commander." Hawke turned back to Meredith and took this opportunity to figure out just how much sense of humor and patience was under her impressive armor. Judging by her set jaw, freezing gaze and her hand twitching to resist her urge to cut the Saarebas' head off; not much. "I believe we all have some agenda here, so if you excuse me now—" Samael fell silent and gave a subtle bow to Meredith before he glanced at Orsino. "I'm glad we could help, First Enchanter. Charming to finally meet you, Knight-Commander." Hawke couldn't help himself and sneered at her while he pushed the Qunari to start walking away.

"So you won't help us defeat these heathens, Hawke." Meredith started orbiting around the assassin. "It seems you even protect them," she continued, hurling a scornful glare at the Saarebas. "Very well then. Your non-existent assistance regarding defending this city won't be forgotten. A day will come and you will crawl to me, asking for my help, _mercenary_. That day I will laugh into your face." Samael once more felt the tiny icicles of Meredith's voice, piercing him through. His only response was turning his back at her and heading for the Keep.

"What a bitch…" Varric pronounced out loud what they all were thinking at this very moment.

"At least she's got a nice ass." Ichabod cackled, poking the Saarebas' brawny arm with his finger. He shut up though, when Hawke and the others granted him a disgusted glare.

oOo

"Teth a! Bas!" A Qunari, patrolling on the Keep courtyard, shouted at his brethren when he spotted Hawke and his men walking without hesitation towards the Keep entrance.

"I'm Hawke. You should know better than throwing that spear at me." Samael scoffed while his hand clasped the katana hilt loosely to underline his words.

"The basalit-an. Yes. Yes, you are allowed to pass." The Qunari lowered the spear and gestured towards the Keep; his fish eyes observed Hawke and his companions with indifference.

"Before you start rambling about your precious Qun, Ashaad, here you are." Hawke handed the leash to the red-painted giant, pushing the Saarebas gently forward. "His Arvaarad's dead. Do as you will with him."

"I thank you for this courtesy, Hawke." A quiet husky voice came out of the Qunari's mouth. "It seems only you understand a little the way of the Qun in this pustule of a city. But what are you doing here? You were supposed to stay out of this." Ashaad peered askance at Hawke's companions – an unrelenting elf with strange markings on his skin, a peevish dwarf with huge crossbow and an inconspicuous nervous human who had averted his gaze once he realized he was under the scrutiny.

"You're right. I shouldn't be here." Samael shook his head. "But something has gone wrong. You have one of my own and I came for her." Hawke awaited in suspense the Qunari's reaction.

"I suspect you'll find more than one companion of yours inside, Hawke. But I have to insist you leave one of your men here as a guarantee you won't do anything… unexpected." Ashaad waited patiently for Hawke's reply, but the assassin remained silent; frowning while contemplating this disturbing condition. "Leave your Bas Saarebas here, and you'll be free to go inside." Ashaad suggested when the assassin gave him no reply still.

"Which Bas Saarebas?" Hawke arched an eyebrow. "I have no mage with me. You must be mistaken." He glanced around him like he half-expected Merrill would peer at him from around a corner. Ashaad's eyes were traveling between Bane and Hawke and he seemed genuinely confused when Samael denied one of his companions was a mage. "Ichabod?" Samael turned to him when he realized the Ashaad was looking straight at him.

"This is not the time, nor the place to discuss this." Ichabod Bane murmured towards his boots. "Go. Save your friends." Ichabod pushed the assassin to the heavy front door, not daring to look into his incredulous eyes.

"Templars are approaching." Samael warned the Qunari quietly, his eyes still following the fidgeting Bane though. "Do me a favor and take them down." Samael couldn't help himself and chuckled mirthlessly. "And don't you dare touch him." Hawke glanced at Bane kicking softly the wall with his boot, before he set his fiery eyes at Ashaad to underline his words.

oOo

As Hawke strolled cautiously through the silent Viscount's Keep, the Qunari were parting in front of him. Samael saw not all of them approved of the Arishok labeling Hawke as basalit-an, the untouchable. But as always, nobody dared defy the Arishok.

Hawke flung open the two-wing massive door leading forward, too afraid, too impatient about what awaited him behind it. In one quick glance the assassin learnt the situation here - kneeling nobles whining along the walls, several dead Guards, disciplined rows of silent Qunari, and the Arishok looming over the whole hall.

"Well, at least we found the Viscount." Varric muttered and nodded at the head lying right in front of them. "Well, at least a piece of him. Can't say he had a nice death, eh?" he added in uneasily when he noticed the horrified expression on the Dumar's face.

"Hawke." The Arishok addressed the newcomer casually. "I've been expecting you," he continued and glanced on his right. Samael mirrored him and to his relief, he spotted there Aveline with her hands tied behind her back. He raised his eyebrows though, when he recognized the unconscious Isabela lying right next to her. A thick rope tied around her torso and arms, a gag stuffed in her mouth.

"We need to talk." Samael stepped forward and kicked the Viscount's black crown out of his way. He barely kept his fury about his abused friends behind his clenched teeth. The Qunari leader nodded and walked away. Hawke marched right after him; behind the backs of the silent Qunari who closed the gap Samael had walked through. Varric glanced at the lyrium warrior by his side and yes, he was anxious just like the dwarf and Aveline.

"What the hell, Arishok?" Hawke couldn't hold himself back anymore. "This wasn't our deal, damn it? Why is Isabela bound like this? How could you allow the Guards Captain to sacrifice herself?"

"Hold, basalit-an." The Arishok raised his palm to silence the resentful human. "The red-headed woman offered herself in exchange for her captured men and insisted. I have to admit, I found her… annoying. I allowed her to make a deal to get rid of her. Regarding the other woman, I should be the one demanding an explanation, Hawke." The Qunari's bottomless eyes cut right through the assassin.

"I don't understand." Hawke droned in reply, glancing back into the hall, but all he was able to see was the Qunari's backs and their weapons strapped on them.

"A thief, Hawke. The one who had stolen the Tome of Koslun years ago. Your companion, Hawke. How could you possibly explain this?" The Qunari raised his voice. Samael kept opening and closing his mouth in disbelief.

"This can't be…" Samael whispered to himself, raking his fingers through the black disheveled hair veil. "What… How… When?" he managed to ask only incoherent questions.

"The Tome of Koslun was lost for several years, hidden from us. When we finally managed to find it, we learnt, that the Tome was supposed to be handed over to a Tevinter spy. Today. Despite all our efforts, your companion managed to steal it again and disappear." The Arishok started pacing around the frozen Hawke. "What was our surprise then, when we found the thief tied like a present right on the Keep's doorstep, several hours after she got away with the book?" he laughed bitterly and it was a sound that chilled Hawke's bones.

"And the Tome…?" Samael whispered and closed his eyes when he tried to calm his whirling thoughts down. Lots of things made sense now.

"Lost." The Arishok halted in front of the devastated assassin.

"What happens now?" Hawke looked up at the Qunari leader, his face tired and that feeling that was about to devour him, was painfully familiar. Betrayal. "Would you punish me? She was my companion after all and I was too foolish, too blind to notice. Too… silly… to figure it out." Hawke shook his head in submission.

"Her part is clear, Hawke. Your admission is… welcomed." The Giant rubbed his chin.

"I need to talk to her. Just a few minutes." Hawke set his pleading eyes at the Qunari leader. "I swear I won't help her to escape or something. I just… I just need to know." Samael's voice was now barely audible.

"I believe you. Talk to her. But I warn you, Hawke. She is beyond the point of redemption in the eyes of the Qun." The Arishok scoffed and dismissed Hawke with a brief gesture. "Hawke?" the Qunari stopped him a second later.

"Yes?" The assassin didn't turn back.

"You shouldn't have come here tonight." The Arishok murmured and Hawke was indeed puzzled by this quiet disturbing statement. But Isabela's betrayal was burning his pride and all he wanted to hear now was her version, as he made roughly his way through the Qunari. The pirate queen seemed to had regained consciousness in the meantime. Her widened eyes watched Hawke approaching her and she gulped when he pulled out a dagger and severed the ropes binding her. She groaned when she stretched her bloodless limbs, then she pulled down a rope holding a gag on its place, spitting the gag right away.

Wordlessly, Samael grasped Bela's bruised arm and dragged her to the front room, both being watched by the whispering nobles. The pirate sauntered in the middle of room, pressing the fingers on her forehead, while Samael started pacing around her. Isabela thought she knew well, how to soothe the fuming assassin, how to make him look on the bright side, and she was indeed about to convince him to help her here. They had been lovers after all, and even after that when Hawke lost his head over the Dalish girl, they remained close friends.

Without any warning, Samael slapped the pirate queen with all his might. Isabela tumbled down, gulping a scream of intense pain since Hawke didn't hold himself back.

"Why?" Samael snatched her hair and pulled her up again. "Why, Isabela?" His fingers clutched her chin roughly, so she would look at him. "I did nothing but protect you all those years. Your Ladyship needed money? Hawke was here to help! Your Pirate Highness needed to get somebody who was being persistent off your back? Of course the silly Hawke took care of that, too. Your Royal Slut-ass needed a place to live after the Hanged Man burnt to ground? No need to have a fright since the stupid Hawke was here to pay for a room in the Blooming Rose!" Hawke punched a wall rather than the cowering woman.

"Hawke… I… I stole that book. I did. But it had nothing to do with you! I just—" Isabela tried to explain.

"Damn it, Isabela! You could have told me anytime what that relic of yours was! You could have prevented the Qunari from staying in Kirkwall! You could have saved all those lives lost over the fight between the Chantry and Qunari!"

"Oh, don't preach me, Hawke! From you it sounds ridiculous!" Bela lashed out at the assassin pacing around the room. "I was betrayed here, too! Do you know that? Do you even care?" she tried to point out the facts important to her.

"Go fuck yourself, Bela." Hawke waved his hand like he couldn't care less. He started cackling a second later and it indeed sounded like he just lost his mind. "You know, I always thought Varric would get bored by this city eventually. That the endless rows with the mages and Templars, thin Veil beneath the city and all that would drive him away. Anders' destiny is quite clear since he is bound to get killed during his hopeless mages' revolution. I expect Fenris to go hunting the mages in Tevinter when his demons come back and yes, Isabela, they always come back. Merrill… is gone. I was a fool to think she loved me. But you…" Hawke shook his head and started ranting again. "It never crossed my mind you would leave or break our relationship in any way. All that we both have been through, our similar personalities, I don't know. Hilarious assumption, right? And stupid as hell!" Hawke's frightening sneer faded as Isabela watched his outburst in silence.

"I stole the relic all those years ago, Hawke. It's true." She started explaining cautiously. "The Qunari's dreadnought stuck right behind my ass, a storm raging in front of me. I was shipwrecked. See? I didn't lie about everything." Isabela hoped this statement would make things better.

"What a relief, pirate." Hawke scowled and kept pacing; now in the other direction.

"Look. I just wanted to sell the book to whomever, who would give me the best offer, but… My plan has changed." Isabela's voice sounded different now. Hurt. Hawke focused on her again, musing about this twist. "It was… him, Hawke. This was always about him. He claimed he needed the book. We were supposed to steal it and we did. Then we were supposed to take your ship and sail away. Get out of here. Together."

"MY WHAT?" Hawke counted to ten to prevent himself from punching her again. She looked wrecked as hell anyway. "So you do admit you were about to double-cross me and even steal from me. Nice, Bela. Even from you." Samael started laughing, but he felt like the biggest fool in Free Marches. "Really, now I feel a bit disappointed that this plot you've put together didn't work. Who was that master-lover that won your black heart and then left you behind like an old shoe? I want to congratulate him."

"You're such a bastard, Hawke." Isabela hissed at him, when he kept chafing her sore spot. "You really don't know who he is?" she asked after a moment, her voice perversely curious. She had now nothing to lose after all.

"Enlighten me," Samael shrugged, thinking he should go back to the Arishok. Since Bela remained silent, the assassin decided to nag her again. "One-legged Larry? Blind Barry and his parrot? Stuttering Simon? Or maybe—"

"Fawn." Isabela interrupted Hawke's mocking.

"Come again?" Samael approached the pirate, wondering how much surprise and betrayal a person could bear for one day without going insane.

"Your precious friend Mahariel. The one, who was living at your estate, Hawke. The one you've been protecting without knowing it. The one, who made a plaything out of our proud and highly respected Samael Hawke." Bela's voice reflected satisfaction when she was able to hurt Hawke back now.

"Shut up." Hawke pressed his palms on the pulsing temples. His head felt like it was about to explode.

"And of course, you had no idea, what he really was and what was he doing literally behind your back. That he intended from the very beginning to use you and hide at your mansion. That he counted with the fact you would protect him from the Templars and take care of his needs. Which you did. In fact, you did so well, Fawn had postponed our departure for a whole month." Isabela continued mercilessly.

"I SAID SHUT THE FUCK UP!" Hawke roared in anguish, but it was too late. Isabela placed a mirror in front of Samael's face to see how Fawn had been toying with him the whole time. How he pretended, well, everything. How he had been piling up lies around Hawke until he was soothed into an impression Mahariel was his friend.

"Did I mention it was probably him who dragged your beloved back to the Dalish, hm?" Isabela purred, observing her broken fingernails. "It had something to do with their funny elven pride or something." She shrugged like this didn't mean anything.

"Liar." Hawke uncovered his face, watching the pirate with tormented eyes. "LIAR!" he threw himself at her, beating her blind as they both collapsed down. He stopped himself though, and got up on his feet again, since he didn't want her to die here by his hand. "Let's go, Isabela." Samael reached down for her and that fast change in his voice and behavior was both bewildering and unsettling.

"What are you going to do to me?" The pirate couldn't hide that panic undertone in her cocksure voice.

"Me? To you? Nothing, my _friend_." Samael slowly opened the door, all heads in the hall swiveling towards them again. Only now Hawke realized they had probably heard his shouting. He didn't care.

"Well?" The Arishok slowly descended the staircase; his ominous weapons straddled across his mighty shoulders.

"Well?" Hawke pushed Isabela towards Aveline and strolled in front of the Qunari leader with his head hanging. "I wish I wouldn't have learnt the truth." He shook his head mildly. "What happens now?" he asked; his voice colorless.

"The Tome was supposed to be in my hands by now, Hawke. It was stolen instead. _Again_. I am denied Par Vollen without the Tome of Koslun. You know that. I don't have the thief who stole from us years ago, nor do I have the thief who has the Tome right now." The Arishok seemed calm, but his fingers were nervously playing on the hafts of his weapons.

"Just tell me, how to fix this." Hawke rubbed his temples.

"Do you have the Tome of Koslun?" The Qunari asked a simple question.

"No, I don't." Samael kept staring at his feet, feeling utterly exhausted.

"Do you have the thief who is responsible for stealing the Tome this time? The one who escaped with it?" the Arishok continued in his investigation.

"No." Hawke shook his head mildly.

"Are you willing to give me the thief who stole the Tome years ago?" The Arishok folded his arms on chest; a pure impatience in his voice now. Hawke took a long moment before he replied this time.

"No." Samael gave the pirate a long gaze. "No. You can't have her." He turned back to the Arishok and his voice sounded steady now.

"So how would you see this matter resolved then, Hawke?" the Qunari started pacing around the assassin.

"Well…" Hawke started fidgeting and it was just now when he realized the whole hall had been gaping at him, waiting for his each word in suspense. "You sail away and look for your Tome?" he tried to sound cheerfully.

"Impossible." The Arishok didn't move and Hawke's heart started to beat faster. Only one possibility seemed to be here, but the assassin was sure he would do anything to prevent it.

"Just save yourselves!" Hawke burst out when he couldn't bear the silence anymore. "Sail away, for Maker's dirty pants! Go looking for your precious Tome of Koslun! Or give me this task instead! I can leave today and I swear I will find the thief and I will hunt his sorry ass down! Please, just…" Hawke's voice trailed off when he ran out of ideas.

"You shouldn't have come here tonight, Hawke." The Arishok repeated his previous statement, but this time his voice sounded deaf, like he had something very specific in his mind, but couldn't force himself to say it out loud. Samael fell silent and took a thorough look at the Qunari. It was written all over his face what was about to happen now; now, when the Arishok had no Tome and thief either.

"Take her then." Hawke glanced behind his back, his voice hoarse and very quiet. Judging by Isabela's reaction, she expected _a_ punishment from Hawke, but surely not handing her over to the Qunari. "I actually think she'll make a brilliant Qunari agent once you… _break her._" Hawke made sure he said those dreadful words right into Bela's frightened face. Because Hawke was now able to see a choice in front of him – a lying, stealing, filthy pirate against the most unexpected Qunari friend. Samael silenced his companions shouting in disbelief with his raised palm like he wouldn't hear anything concerning this decision.

"Hawke…?" Isabela managed to rasp in disbelief.

"Satisfied, Arishok?" Samael asked, but his voice sounded broken. He perfectly ignored Isabela who had started spluttering at him any curse she could think of, until she was silenced with a gag again. If Hawke thought this was over, he was sorely mistaken, but it took him long moment to realize the Arishok wasn't pleased even with the thief in his hands.

"You… can't be serious." Hawke stalked to the Arishok, his eyes stuck at those thick bloodless lips which were about to challenge him to a fight to the death.

"This is the demand of the Qun, Hawke. I am Qunari. I have nothing more to say." The Arishok turned his back at Hawke, but Samael wasn't done, oh no. His desperate suggestions were interrupted when the Qunari leader whirled around and almost came running back to him.

"I can't battle just anyone, Hawke. You're the basalit-an. They are not. Fight me and you might win and save your brethren. Submit and they all die and you with them. This is the way of the Qun." The Arishok seemed losing his patience. Samael glanced around desperately, all spooked faces watching him in suspense, his companions awestricken and no doubt wondering how this had even happened.

"Please, don't. Don't do this. There has to be a better way." Samael whispered, so only Arishok would hear this desperate plea.

"Is that your answer?" The Arishok asked coldly and Hawke realized he had lost this battle already. The Arishok was Qunari in the first place, then there was a huge pile of Qunari shit and far behind it there was maybe a little place for Hawke and their brief unusual relationship. It was ridiculous to think the Qunari would prefer Hawke over his unshakeable beliefs in Qun.

"We shall fight if that is what you want." Samael replied after a moment with no expression on his ashen face.

"Meravas! So shall it be!" The Qunari leader exclaimed, but Hawke caught that tormented undertone in his deep voice, however hidden it was. Samael gulped when he realized those huge weapons he had been admiring many times were about to slice him into pieces. Once again, Hawke's katana and daggers looked here ridiculously… insufficient.

Hawke glanced at Fenris who stood there along with Varric, both speechless and worried. Samael intended to give them a soothing sneer, but he failed big time. Aveline, who was liberated from her binds, was gnawing at her fingernails and she clearly intended to encourage Hawke with a self-assured nod, but it wasn't convincing. Samael thought he hadn't been so close to a certain death than right now, but the enormous axe wheezing through the air had woken him up from his bitter thoughts.

Samael saw himself from above dodging the lethal Qunari axe and it all felt like a dream. Why would he even want to avoid that shiny blade? Why should he? His world was crumbling around him anyway and there was nothing he could do to stop it. His loved ones were disappearing out of his life one by one. Merrill was gone. Isabela had been lying to him for years and Fawn's betrayal was rooted so deep, Hawke couldn't breathe when he recalled Fawn's beautiful pale face. His words about the two of them being similar. His gift Occela, who had disappeared just like the elf. The Qunari blade approached Samael's face again, but this time Hawke simply stared at it, waiting for its embrace. The katana fell out of the assassin's hand and rattled on a flagstone as the cold steel stroked almost lovingly Hawke's face, leaving a thin long wound across his forehead, eye and cheekbone.

Blinded by the warm blood oozing out of the injury, Hawke staggered a few steps backwards, caught completely off guard by the pulsing pain. The Arishok seemed astounded by this easy victory, since his hands lowered when he watched Hawke tottering towards the column to lean on it.

If Samael's friends expected him to perform his usual exquisite fight style, when he became practically a ghost; untouchable, striking from the most unexpected angles with imperceptible moves, they were petrified now by the assassin's obvious reluctance to fight the huge Qunari.

Varric couldn't bear the silence anymore during which the Arishok had started approaching the motionless assassin again – to deliver a lethal blow no doubt. "By the Paragons' decaying fetid asses, Hawke! What do you think you're doing? Get your lazy ass back to that over-sized Kossith and chop his head off! Like always! Don't you dare! Do you hear me? Don't you dare standing there and get yourself killed!" Yes. This time it was Varric's shouting which stirred something in Hawke; something he had no idea it was still within him, but this something forced him indeed to spit out blood which had gotten into his mouth, and bend over to pick up the katana again. All that without taking his blazing eyes off the Arishok, who halter when he realized Hawke was about to fight back.

As they faced off, Hawke tried his best now. He parried vigorously the Qunari, trying not to admit he was barely able to dodge the speeding up attack and that he wasn't able to strike the huge Qunari in response.

_Not to let him grab me. Maker, please, if you hear me, just don't let him grab me._

Samael fainted right, whirling around, and he managed to pierce the Arishok's arm with a dagger he had ripped out of its belt sheathe. The heavy Qunari axe rumbled on the cold stone, but that sound got lost in the Qunari's roar of pain. One careless move and the Arishok managed to kick Hawke's katana out of his hand, leaving the hand bruised and paralyzed in pain afterwards. Hawke was punched straight into his torso which sent him flying backwards while he listened to the lyrical creaking of his poor ribs. He moaned when he hit the column and collapsed down helplessly. Fenris' white hair was prominent in the crowd around Hawke and for a brief second Hawke was able to see Fenris' clenched armored hands, his set jaw, puckered lips challenging him to get up and convince himself it didn't hurt _that_ bad. But as Hawke pulled himself up along the column, he realized, that yes – it definitely hurt like hell. No rest for the wicked, because the Qunari attacked him again, still enraged because of the crippling injury.

Samael realized vaguely his counterattack was woefully slow. Oblivious to Hawke's obvious exhaustion and lack of will to win this fight, the Qunari leader made a mistake and a few second later he stared at the assassin's knife jabbed in his side. He ripped it out of the wound, roared again, but then he realized there was nothing standing between him and the human. He seized Samael's torso; the katana, the Qunari sword and axe wallowing forgotten on the floor, and he squeezed. Maker, he squeezed until the human screamed in pain, begging him to end it for him. Samael's ribs gave up and broke and this unbearable pain allowed Hawke to defy the Arishok as he punched him into his face with the back of his head, leaving him stunned for a few precious moments.

Hawke slumped down and he was barely aware the Qunari were now holding the struggling Aveline, Fenris and Varric, so they wouldn't interfere. Hawke started crawling away from the Arishok, who was still shaking his head and swaying in the middle of hall. Samael's hands started desperately scrabbling around for the katana and he knew the Arishok was approaching again – to finish him off this time.

"This is the end, basalit-an. Embrace it." The Qunari spoke in a hoarse voice, painfully close to Hawke. Samael's numb fingers finally managed to find the katana hilt, but he only raised it a few inches above the ground when a huge Qunari foot stomped on it and an awful snap reached Hawke's ears. The self-locking part of the katana was destroyed by the weight of the giant, and Samael found himself toting the katana hilt, while the blade itself was lying short way off. Hawke's katana of Seheron was finally defeated.

"Now you die." A familiar voice from above left Hawke indifferent. Once again he saw himself rolling on the cold flagstones, dodging the Qunari axe which had only one purpose now; kill him. Samael looked up into the Arishok's face which was reflecting all demons tormenting his soul. Samael saw nothing but a face of an enemy. His hand found by touch the chilling steel of the mutilated katana and Samael actually smiled mischievously at his rival before he jabbed the blade into his foot.

The Arishok howled in pain and tumbled down while everyone in the hall covered their ears and eyes, unable to look at the brutal fight in front of them. Hawke didn't wait for the Arishok to pull himself together. He crawled on top of him, but it was just now when he realized he couldn't pierce his heart mercilessly like he intended. He didn't realize the katana blade had cut him as well; deep into his palm.

"I won. You lost." Samael pressed the katana blade at the Qunari's throat before he dropped it and fell off the panting Arishok. Was he a coward? He could have killed him a second ago. But how could he ignore those nights spent together in docks, talking to each other? How could he forget the Arishok had tended to his injuries and let him stay in his compound? Were they friends? Or were they just two persons who happened to meet each other, they had found comfort in the other one, and now was the time to say goodbye? But why like this?

"Finish what you've started, basalit-an. Or we'll finish it for you." The Sten stepped forward and his spear in his hand spoke for itself.

"I won. There's no need to kill him. I defeated him, I decide what to do with him, and I want him to live. Now back off!" Hawke clambered up along a column; just a pure willpower and final resolve to keep his friend alive was forcing him not to submit to the pain shooting throughout his body.

"One of you must die, basalit-an. This is the demand of the Qun and I don't expect you to understand." The Sten took another step towards the silent Arishok. Samael's hand moved imperceptibly and the Sten gave a death rattle. He collapsed down with Hawke's throwing knife stuck in his throat. All the Qunari started grumbling and unsheathing their weapons, making a perfect ring around Hawke and their Arishok. Judging by the shouting and curses, Hawke somehow found within him the strength to defend his friend, but he knew he was about to be pierced by countless spears. Once again, he didn't care.

A sudden dazzling light ball appeared right beneath the assassin's feet and when it exploded, all the Qunari were thrown away from the epicenter. Hawke himself tumbled down, too, watching in awe the blue flames licking his body which was about to give up. The Qunari started to get up one by one, clearly shaken and searching for whomever had cast that spell. Samael was relieved when Fenris landed right next to him and pulled him up on his feet hastily.

"Fenris, we have to—" Hawke started explaining his plan frantically. A plan to save the Arishok.

"— we have to get out of here, Hawke." Fenris growled in reply, ignoring Samael's groans of pain when the adrenaline started to fade in his blood and the pain was taking over.

"C'mon, Hawke. We have to leave before it's too late! Which was like twenty minutes ago." Varric glared at the nearest Qunari and pointed Bianca at him to let him know he would shoot him without regret if he'd approach them.

"NO!" Samael wriggled furiously out of the elf's grasp, well aware of the Qunari sneaking to the Arishok again.

A simple gasp of pain lingering on the Arishok's lips transformed into his name, which made Samael to stop his efforts at once. Like in slow images, Hawke turned around and his dagger slipped out of his hand. The katana blade was stuck in the Arishok's chest and apparently he was the one who had placed it there. Defeated, Hawke fell on his knees by the dying Qunari leader. Nothing mattered anymore. Nothing made sense anymore. The Qunari pulled back when they saw the fight was reaching to its end and one of the rivals was about to die, just like their precious Qun had demanded. The nobles in the Keep started dusting themselves, glancing at each other cautiously, whispering to each other like they couldn't believe they were saved.

"I can… I can see it again, Hawke." The Qunari set his eyes at his rival who wasn't surprisingly the one who had ended his life.

"See what?" Samael sobbed and touched the katana blade, only to pull his shaking hand back a moment later.

"The white shores of Par Vollen." The Arishok blinked and his face relaxed. He was looking through Hawke at something Samael wasn't able to see. When was the assassin able to look at the Qunari's face again, the Arishok was dead.

oOo

"Is it… over?" Meredith along with her men and Orsino dashed inside, staring in awe around them. Mingled among the Templars was Ichabod Bane.

"It's over." One noble approached the Knight-Commander and his self-important smug on his face looked like it was him who had slain the Arishok.

"The city has been saved!" The people started hailing and hugging each other. Meredith slowly walked through the cheering mob until she reached the dead Arishok and Hawke still kneeling by him, surrounded by his friends.

"It appears Kirkwall has a new Champion." Meredith stated the obvious, observing the silent Hawke, the blood smeared all over him, the ugly scar across his face.

"I need… a moment." Unbelievably polite, Hawke stood up and leaned on both Aveline and Fenris who led him away from inquiring eyes.

"Well, it looks like we found the rest of Dumar." Varric muttered and closed the door leading to the Viscount's office behind his back. The corpse lay right in the middle of the room, beheaded and already stinking. Samael saw no point in his pretended repose anymore. He simply fell down, clenching his torso. Every breath he took was a torment. The scar on his face felt like his whole head was on fire.

"Hawke!" Only twice Samael saw Fenris so terrified. The elf wiped away the blood bubbles coming out of the assassin's mouth. They all jumped up when the door flung open and Ichabod scooted inside like a mad man.

"What that giant did to him? I came here just now." Ichabod asked with such urgency in his voice, everybody glanced at him in suspicion. "I ASKED WHAT DID HE DO TO MY — TO HAWKE?" his voice thundered when they remained speechless.

"Well, he probably broke his hand when he kicked the blade out of it." Aveline peeped her opinion, holding Hawke's pale hand in both hers.

"His ribs! They're probably broken." Fenris growled and shot a nasty glare at her, like the silly Aveline should have mentioned the ribs first instead of a stupid hand.

"Deep in shit! Anders is in Darktown, Merrill is who knows where. What are we gonna do? We have to do something, right? Right! Where's that horse? Or that! What's his name…?" Varric started rambling exquisitely.

"Stop fretting dwarf!" Ichabod's oddly calm voice silenced him.

"I'm not fretting!" Varric yelled in reply." And I've already heard that line before by the way!" Varric was losing it.

"What are you doing?" Fenris snatched Bane's hands when he placed them on Hawke's shattered body. "Was it true then? Are you yet another filthy mage?" Fenris tightened his grasp on Ichabod's hands, jabbing his armored fingertips into them.

"Hawke is dying." Ichabod said plainly, his voice freezing. "Do you want to be responsible for his death when you know I can probably save him?" Bane asked the elf, their eyes locked. "I didn't think so either," Ichabod nodded, when Fenris let go of him. "Pour it down his throat," he handed him over a flask with golden potion. Bane placed his hands on his son's chest, taking several deep breaths before his hands started emanating warm orange light.

"Are you a healer then?" Aveline broke the silence after a minute.

"No." Ichabod replied tersely.

"No?" Aveline's eyes narrowed.

"Let him do his job, Aveline, and for all my ancestors, please shut up!" Varric lashed out at her while pacing around them.

"It's not enough." Ichabod breathed out after several minutes of channeling his magic into Hawke's body. Bane's face turned into a bloodless, haggard mask.

"What do you mean – not enough? Is he still dying?" Fenris' voice was still hostile like this all was Ichabod's fault.

"I need… blood." Bane whispered almost inaudibly. "But I can't use mine. I swore many years ago, I wouldn't… ever again…" Ichabod's ashen face turned to Hawke's friends, searching their faces desperately one by one.

"Take mine." Aveline started ripping off her armor covering the forearm.

"Do I hear correctly?" Fenris stopped her doing in disbelief in his voice.

"Hawke came here because of me, Fenris! Some of us are not so simple-minded about blood magic! Not when a friend's life is at stake here!" The Guards Captain fried the elf with one annihilating glare. Fenris gaped at her for a moment before he tossed his glove away and reached his arm towards the mage.

"My blood should be more potent because of the lyrium." Fenris murmured, closing his eyes in torment since this went against all his rules and beliefs. Was Hawke even worth this? One glance at Hawke's ashen face in Fenris' lap told him, that is was completely worth it. Ichabod snatched the glowing arm and his mind strove towards one thing and one thing only – to save his son.

When Hawke opened a crack his eyes again, they all started breathing again. Varric leaned on the wall, groping his heart through the leather jerkin. Aveline held the tears barely in check while Fenris simply stared down at his squirming assassin. Ichabod crawled away from the friends and collapsed down. The Death was sniffing his son's ass, but he drove it away. That was all that mattered to him right now.

"You look like you see a dead person," Samael sneered and groped insecurely his sore torso.

"We did, Hawke. We did." Varric replied and turned around so nobody would see he was still knocked out of balance. Once again it appeared even mighty Hawke was just a mortal.

"Ichabod? When did you get here?" Samael asked when they pulled him up and he hissed in pain just a little. "Did I miss something?" the assassin managed to smile faintly at Fenris, who averted his eyes while he was hastily covering his wrist wound which had saved Hawke's life.

"As far as we know they are all waiting for their hero impatiently." Aveline coughed before she replied at his question.

"Champion?" Meredith addressed him with this unusual title when Hawke stalked to her. Samael knew immediately he hated it.

"The Qunari threat stopped here today, Knight-Commander. Send those people home." Hawke spoke and stomped to the dead Qunari leader. "I want his body and his weapons, Meredith. And keep that fancy title for somebody who would appreciate it." He didn't face the Knight-Commander when he said those rude words, so he missed the fact Meredith's face was changing colors in fury.

"The Arishok's body will be hung at the city gate to show how we treat invaders and mindless heathens, _Champion_." Meredith's slow words were like pouring cold water on Hawke's head.

"That wasn't a request, Meredith. I just informed you about my intentions." Hawke dismissed the topic and nodded at Aveline whose people were supposed to move the Arishok's corpse right now. Aveline didn't dare looking into Meredith's enraged face when she confirmed Hawke's demand and sent her men to do Hawke's bidding.

"I bid you good day." Hawke nodded at nobody particular before he slowly walked away; the body of his rival carried in front of him by six panting Guardsmen. Only now Hawke realized the rest of the Qunari had disappeared along with Isabela.


	25. Chapter 25

"I'm fine, Aveline. Now piss off," Hawke pouted on his sofa. Fenris was lounging right next to him, watching Hawke cautiously as though he thought the assassin would drop dead at any second. Varric was wordlessly drinking his fifth whiskey glass and was still shaken after what had happened at the Viscount's Keep. Ichabod apologized and went to check on his house which had been on fire when he had last seen it. Aveline started with banning Hawke from drinking alcohol, then she decided to tuck him into bed or at least cook him soup, since Bodahn and the others hadn't returned yet from Darktown. As the skies were growing darker with every hour, Samael started thinking about going to search for them, but he was sure his friends wouldn't let him go roaming through the city at night; the city, which was still licking its wounds after the Qunari invasion.

Hawke beat himself up for several hours for allowing them to go on their own through a city which was under attack by the Qunari and every filthy thief or scoundrel that could crawl out of his hiding place to blend in that mayhem to see if there was anything worth taking to be had. Hawke let them go alone without hesitation. One old and exhausted dwarf with his a simple minded son, several frightened elven servants and a young lad who had probably no idea how to fight or take care of himself. Yes, Samael did send his war hound with them, but he was well aware of the mabari's stubbornness and unexpected moodiness. He could have probably abandoned the group despite the fact his master had ordered him to protect it. Hawke sighed and rubbed his eyelids.

The room was quiet, just droning fire illuminated their sullen faces and everybody seemed to be fully occupied with their thoughts, when the front door opened and distant voices filled the Hawke estate. Samael looked up from his intertwined fingers and hypnotized the door, too anxious about who would walk in, and even more anxious about who wouldn't.

"You look… like Death itself touched you." Anders slowly walked inside, supporting himself on his scratched staff like an old man. There were deep black circles under his swollen eyes and his blond disheveled hair and gaunt face let the assassin know what the mage had been doing in those last few days; probably without food or sleep.

"Nonsense," Hawke slowly rose from his seat, scoffing and covering his relief. His efforts to sound nonchalant were futile though, when his face twisted after his ribs reminded him of his injury. "But I won't say no to your magical hands," Samael slowly added, trying hard to hide the pain in his voice. His ribs were knitted together indeed, but, Maker, the pain was still immense.

"Enchantment?" Sandal dashed into the main hall, scratching his belly while observing the faces around him. A silver furry ball flew past the dwarven boy, knocking Hawke on the sofa again.

"Charon…" Hawke managed to whisper when the dog put his paws on Samael's both shoulders and kept nudging his huge head into him until he scratched him behind ears. "You did well, my friend. I know you did…" he kept whispering to the mabari making funny noises while being stroked. Meanwhile, servants dragged themselves past their master and they all headed for their tiny rooms, obviously wishing nothing but sleep with no Qunari in sight.

"Ehm, Hawke, who is that?" Aveline nodded towards the Hein boy who was staring at Hawke intently, leaning on a door frame like he didn't dare coming in. Bodahn briefly bowed to Hawke when he marched right into the kitchen. So many guests in the mansion and no prepared refreshments – what a disaster!

With no words that could describe Samael's relationship with this peculiar young lad, Hawke lazily raised his arm, calling the boy to come closer. He almost ran to him and landed by the sofa, looking up into Hawke's still unhealthily ashen face. The boy seemed completely oblivious to anyone else in the room. Those almond eyes reminded Hawke of what had happened ever since they left together Kirkwall outskirts and it felt like everything that had happened ever since was simply… wrong.

Suddenly Hawke realized that he wore a mask on his face again, an impenetrable calm mask which was stuck there just because to soothe his friends. He had to show them that life was going on, that he was all right and everything was just the way it was supposed to be.

But Hawke wasn't all right. The mask on his face screamed to be ripped off, shattered, and left in peace and silence. It screamed wordlessly, persistently, until Hawke wasn't able to keep listening to neither his friends, nor Bodahn's narration about their distressful journey to Darktown. He wasn't even able to be in their company. Samael stood up abruptly without knowing what he intended to do. He realized his companions fell silent on by one and they were gaping at him in disquiet.

"Oh-oh. I know this expression. Are you about to throw us out in your own charming way?" Varric cocked the head and Hawke's silence in reply told them the dwarf was completely right.

"Leave me." Samael really had no other way to put it. Their worried faces and questions if he wanted them to do anything were echoing in his mind only from a distance. He turned into a motionless statue. When he glanced around him for the second time, he was alone. Well, almost alone, since there was the pair of hazel eyes watching him in suspense and the mabari lying in front of the fireplace, pounding his tail lazily into the floor. For some reason, Hawke was glad Hein stayed, but the lad obviously expected him to send him away along with the others. They both started climbing the stairs in silence and Hein opened the bedroom door for Hawke. Without giving it much thought, the assassin strolled right to a dresser and fished out a small package, enwrapped in a dark crimson chamois. The blade that had been his dark passenger, his beloved as much as hated friend for countless years now.

Hein watched what Hawke was doing without any particular expression on his face, but a flash of recognizance ran across his face when Hawke unwrapped the package and the short knife appeared. In trance, Samael tossed away his linen under tunic as though he was alone and completely at ease. The blade was glowing dimly in the dark when he moved his hand. Without saying a word, Hein left the dark cold room and came back with fancy candelabra with eight candles emanating soft, revealing light. Hawke still stood on the same spot, blade in his hand, and he was lost in the slow thoughts.

The hand holding the knife slid down, slowly, hesitant, as the cold steel touched the pale, almost invisible scar on his hip. Nobody spoke, nobody moved. Only hand with the knife started shaking and Samael groaned in frustration when he wasn't able to calm down and cut right through the top scar. Not above it, not beneath it, precisely through it.

"Allow me." Hein whispered, once Hawke's hand dropped down and he raked the fingers through his hair in despair. The assassin twitched like it was just now when he realized he wasn't all alone. Everything that could go wrong in his life, went wrong. Another friend dead. Every rule Hawke had, broken. All that left was anguish in his mind and savage need not to feel it. Not to feel anything anymore. Ever again.

In expectation of the sweet redemption, Hawke let the boy to push him down on the bed. It was like the lad had passed a test since Samael simply handed him the knife, nodding like this needed to be done. Hein didn't wait for anything and he sat down by Hawke's body, pressing the knife on the top scar on Hawke's hip which was now prominent in the light of candles. Samael's breaths quickened in impatience and his eyes were pleading with the boy to help him. To do it quickly and do it right. Hein glanced at his master with pure torment in his hazel eyes, and he closed them when the knife cut through the skin and Hawke gasped in pain.

"The next one." Hawke rasped after a moment of silence, during which Hein wasn't looking at him. The lad simply gulped and carefully positioned the knife across the second scar. A tear appeared in the boy's eye when the second thin stream of blood started to make its sinuous way down Hawke's body, staining the white bed sheets.

Hawke's enthralling eyes forced the lad to cut through the third scar and it was only now when Hawke's mask finally slipped off his face, leaving him finally free of it and able to face his pain he felt in his mind, however it was choked now by the physical pain. The blood-stained blade fell inaudibly on the already ruined carpet as the tears made their way down the assassin's cheeks.

"What should I do now?" Hein asked quietly, clueless. Hawke's silent tears were streaming out of his darkened eyes, like the fire within them was smothered for good.

"Nothing." Hawke breathed out, feeling every pulse of pain on his skin. It was tranquilizing. "Just… do nothing."

Hein started contemplating this uncertain quiet plea. Well, at least the assassin didn't want him to leave. It meant Hawke didn't want to be alone. Hein lay down cautiously right next to Hawke who seemed oblivious to his doing now, when his desperate need was satiated. The boy unfolded the snowy white blanket which got stained with Hawke's blood already, but the boy didn't care. He tucked the blanket around the stolid Hawke and himself, curled on his bare shoulder and fell asleep right after he had closed his eyes.

oOo

A distant noise woke the boy up in the middle of night. He waited for his eyes to get accustomed to darkness and only then he realized the bed next to him was empty. He got up, shivering, although he was still fully dressed. Sneaking through the dark mansion, Hein realized the noise was coming from the basement. A dark growl by the door leading downstairs spooked the boy, but he was sure the mabari wouldn't attack him without an explicit order from his master.

The shabby steps screeched as he walked down and he could smell the moldy air and feel the spider webs waving in the slight draft. The noise he heard got louder and louder with every cautious step the boy took. The way forward was cut off because of the collapsed ceiling; no doubt the work of that little dwarf. Hein was so close he was now able to hear and see what was going on in the dim chamber on his left. Hawke smashed already everything breakable in his laboratory. Colorful potions and poisons lay in shards, mingling together on the flagstones, crushed table and broken chairs, shredded tapestry which was hung on the wall and glass complex apparatus was scattered around the whole room. Inhuman moans, wordless shouts and choked curses – all coming out of Hawke's mouth as he was whirling around the room in his devastating tango. Only one thing remained intact: a huge stone catafalque with body on it, covered with the black fluid fabric. The Arishok. His defeated weapons were lying on the steps leading to his resting place; still stained with Samael's dried blood.

The assassin was pacing around the Qunari now, smoking a fat Antivan cigar and crushing the ruins of his laboratory beneath his boots. Fawn was indeed in Samael's thoughts right now; his hypocrisy and the fact he was successfully manipulating Hawke was infuriating him beyond the bearable point. The elf didn't even hesitate to use Isabela, locate the relic with her help, then leave her behind to rot. Well, she wasn't exactly innocent either, but obviously Fawn was much more to blame than her. Hawke felt the pressure inside of him boiling, trying to get on the surface. But how to make this better? Was there a way to make it better? Did he even want to?

"I wish I could have your certainty right now." Hawke stumbled to the pedestal, leaned on it with his left arm while he let his right hand hovering above the Arishok's covered head. "It must be great to know exactly what you are supposed to do. Why or when. And you don't have to question yourself all the time. Or question the things that happened to you. On the other hand, see for yourself where your precious Qun led you, you fool." Samael kept murmuring to himself when his hand finally pulled the fabric off the Qunari's sleeping face. The silence that followed was deafening. The time seemed to stop.

"Master…?" Hein interrupted Hawke's scattered thoughts finally. The assassin jerked at the sound of this hushed half-question, half-reminder, that he wasn't alone anymore. Alone with the Qunari corpse. Hawke almost sneered when this thought crossed his mind as he threw the half-burnt cigar into the cold fireplace.

"I woke you up. I'm sorry." Samael replied after a moment. Somehow he managed to sound completely indifferent and calm; not like he just had destroyed the whole room. "And I told you not to address me with such… _word_," Samael added after a moment during which the lad was simply staring at him.

"How am I supposed to call you then?" The lad sauntered in front of the assassin, tilting his head up slightly, so he would be able to see Hawke's shadowed face.

"Hawke. Like anybody else." Samael shrugged and glanced around him in uneasiness. Maker, what a mess. And the worst part? He didn't even feel better.

"I don't like that name. Everybody uses it." Hein crinkled his a bit flattened nose.

"You're not allowed to like or dislike anything, little rabbit." Hawke lashed out at him.

"So, are we back at that 'Master' thingie then?" Hein threw in a catty comment. Hawke scowled and his hand slapped the top of the boy's head, rather playfully. His gaze slipped back at the Arishok's uncovered face. Maybe it was just because of the physical exhaustion and emotional strain, but Samael would swear the Arishok looked very much alive at that moment, with the soft warm light dancing on his calm face, coming from four torches hung on the weeping walls. Suddenly everything was clear for Hawke. It was like the Arishok only waited for the perfect moment to whisper into his ear and show him the way. Samael now knew what to do. What had needed to be done for a long time now.

"I have some business." The assassin turned back to the yawning boy and those firm words woke him up again perfectly. "Like right now. Care to join me?" Samael asked cautiously, his hand lingering on the lad's shoulder. He didn't look at the boy though when he spoke.

"Yes." Hein replied shortly, but he did think for a few seconds about what could be possibly so important that it needed to be done now in the middle of night. Samael just shook his head about Hein's obvious willingness to do anything and at any hour as long as it had something to do with Hawke.

"Wait for me outside." Hawke ordered and waved his hand impatiently when the cheeky lad seemed to have something else on his mind. Alone again, Samael glanced behind him at the dead Qunari once more. He was drawn involuntarily back to the Arishok and he found himself loitering around the catafalque again. He felt like saying something to him, but he knew it would be futile and silly indeed to talk to a dead person. His finger touched shyly the golden ribbon in the white hair before Samael found his voice again.

"This isn't over, Arishok. I swear," Hawke whispered almost inaudibly. "This isn't over." With one swift move Hawke covered the Qunari's face again and headed for the door.

One almond eye peering at him from behind the doorframe forced Hawke to ask himself a simple, yet stinging question. Was he really that alone as he kept telling to himself? Was he really that miserable and abandoned as he perversely liked telling to himself? The answer was no.

oOo

"You're still hurting." Hein whispered in accusatory voice an hour later. They were both squeezed into a narrow alcove, waiting for the Guards to pass without noticing them. For the prying boy it wasn't hard to guess Hawke's ribs were definitely not ready for this sudden night adventure, judging by Hawke's arduous breathing and his arms wrapped around his torso.

"Silence, little one." Samael sizzled in reply. "Or you ruin everything. Just examine the place where I'll get in, then bring the horse there, be quiet and wait for me." Hawke peered outside and nodded like they could sneak on. The Chantry garden was incredibly large and empty; drowned in an early morning autumn mist. "If I'm not back in twenty minutes," Samael scratched his head, "keep waiting." Hawke tried to pierce the darkness and he approached the boy to convince himself he had understood. The lad squeezed his arm briefly before he crept among the trees where he intended to find a hiding place for the horse and himself. Hawke's eyes then soared along the massive Chantry walls; they look invincible and somehow menacing, but it was too late to back off. Without knowing why exactly, Samael ripped one of the crimson roses off the bush and stuck the stem into his mouth since he would need his both hands right now.

"Fucking Gods above, this is so wrong…" Hawke mumbled through the rose in his mouth when he started climbing the rickety lattice meant for the growing grapes. On his way up, Samael cursed his aching body countless times, but his whole mind was fixed on one thing and one thing only. To make somebody, anybody for that matter, to pay for the Arishok's death.

oOo

Mother Petrice returned into her humble room right after the midnight service and set a simple iron candlestick with two shortening candles on a small table in the middle of the room. She was content in a way she hadn't been in her entire life. Her robes slipped off her shoulders and rustled on the cold flagstones, leaving her just in a long white night gown. She strolled towards the basin in the corner and she studied her pale face in the plain small mirror hanging above it, before she washed it thoroughly, humming a part of the Chant of Light. It seemed nothing at all could mar her good mood and satisfaction over the fantastic success of her devious plan.

"I wonder how you can even look at yourself in the mirror, Petrice." Hawke materialized from the dark corner, gazing at the woman through the mirror. "Particularly after what happened today," Samael added and crept two steps closer to her; their eyes still locked through the glass. Petrice's hand that had been brushing her short hair froze right after she spotted a tall wreathed silhouette and she gulped when the pair of fiery eyes flashed from beneath the hood.

"As strange as it is, Serah Hawke, I was wondering the same thing about yourself several times." Petrice regained her repose and straightened up. She tried to make an inconspicuous step towards the door, but Samael just snorted and appeared right behind her, dragging her back to the mirror and forcing her to look into it again. Once she was able to see her face once more, Petrice realized only now how terrified she was, because she was sure Hawke didn't come here to have just a nice talk with her. In one second Petrice decided the best defense is a good offense.

"Go ahead, mercenary!" she spluttered loudly and tried to shake off Hawke's hands clasping her shoulders roughly. "Go ahead and violate my pure body! Fall even more from the Maker's grace! You're already marked with the brand of damnation anyway and —"

"Shut up, Petrice." Samael's lazy voice interrupted her outburst as his hand found her throat and squeezed. "As much as I hate to disappoint you, my dick takes holiday every time I see you. So don't be afraid of defiling your _pious_ and _pure_ body." The assassin couldn't help himself and laughed when he tried to imagine the honest and virtuous Petrice; unsuccessfully.

"YOU!" Petrice's lucid eyes were glowing in outrage after this insult.

"I said shut up!" Hawke hissed into Petrice's ear and he stuffed the rose into her mouth to silence her. If she was expecting anything from Hawke, this certainly wasn't it, since her eyes were twice their size now and she moaned when she felt a tiny thorn jabbing into her lower lip. But those eyes burning in the mirror let Petrice know she had much bigger problem than the rose in her mouth. It was like Hawke wanted to confirm his growing insanity when he laughed heartily, but there was no smile on his face or his eyes whatsoever. "Let's have a silent moment of peaceful contemplation for my deceased horn-headed friend, shall we?" Samael suggested after a minute of silent struggle with Petrice in front of the mirror. "That's what you called him, am I right, Petriiiice?" Hawke purred right into her ear, not taking his blazing eyes off her mirror face.

"Humpf!" Petrice obviously didn't like this idea as she spat the rose out and she indeed intended to save herself with shouting for help.

"I said silent moment, woman." Samael growled, jammed the rose back into Mother's mouth, and put a finger across his lips. His savage eyes didn't look human anymore. Petrice did the only thing that made any sense here - she nodded and shut up. "You see, the life is taking from me my loved ones one by one." Hawke started talking again in a light conversational tone. "Oh, don't be mistaken, I blame only myself for what happened. But it is so refreshing to have somebody else to blame for once, don't you think?" Hawke stroked Petrice's hair thoughtfully and took the rose out of her mouth with mocking chivalry, since she had obviously something to say.

"This was meant to happen, Hawke! I am nothing but a tool in the Maker's hands and through me it was done what needed to be done! And you're insane if you think you could have prevented it!" she spouted in urgency, because now she was painfully aware it was her life what was at stake here. Samael didn't like what she was talking about, so he rather silenced her outburst with his rose again.

"A friend of mine is dead, Petrice. Someone has to take responsibility for this inconvenient incident, right?" Hawke sounded like he suggested they would together stomp on a bug and have a lovely dinner afterwards. What was more peculiar, he was now able to see himself briefly through the Mother's eyes and he had to admit, that… yeah, he was insane indeed. The assassin snatched the flower again, observing it in the dim light of the dying candles like he saw it for the first time. It looked black and dead. "Hum…" Samael smelled the rose in his hand. "It stinks," he grimaced and let it slip out of his hand.

"Whatever you're about to do, it won't make you feel better, Serah Hawke." Petrice seemed oddly calm now, her bright eyes piercing Hawke's mirror reflection. She obviously decided to switch the tactics into more diplomatic tone and try to talk Hawke into leaving her alone. "You have very little interest in me, isn't it correct, Serah Hawke? Nothing I've ever done was meant to hurt you directly. All I wanted is to serve the Maker and shepherd his people the best way I know. There is no need to be hasty and regret your deeds afterwards. There is still time to repent and salvage your tormented soul." Almost imperceptible sneer appeared on Petrice's face because her words seemed to have desirable affect on Hawke since he remained silent and his grasp on the Mother loosened. "And I have to insist on what I've said before, Hawke. Harming me won't make you feel better and —"

"Good, because I don't want to feel better." Samael woke up from his short lethargy and shook the once again plotting Chantry Mother. "All I want is to make somebody pay, Petrice. For Ketojan, for those long shot plans and schemes of yours, for hoodwinking all those poor Chantry sheep you've been manipulating with to do your bidding. For killing the innocent young boy right here on this allegedly sacred Chantry land. Or have you already forgotten about Saemus?" Samael leaned forward so his fiery eyes flashed in the mirror right next to Petrice's blue ones. The strident odour of leather and mouldering leaves filled Petrice's nostrils and she was unable to do anything for several seconds. And yet there was something much more in the air around her. Hawke reeked of death. It took all her strength not to fall on her knees and beg for her life.

"Saemus Dumar was a Qunari convert! I don't expect you to understand that threat he represented when he decided to submit to the Qun, Serah Hawke. You're making a terrible mistake. It's not too late for you to atone and —" It seemed Mother Petrice was determined to make Hawke an Andrastian no matter what.

Samael dismissed this topic when he snorted and stuffed a handkerchief into Petrice's mouth. "Let us go for a little invigorating night stroll." Samael grinned viciously at the Mother Petrice. Her only reply was her eyes widened in fear and her mute plea that her Maker would interfere and strike down her blasphemous captor. Nothing happened though; her Maker was obviously asleep.

oOo

A small ship was ready to sail away, but Sten was still standing on a jetty, staring at the Kirkwall huge bronze statues and the massive chains hanging between them. Shreds of mist were billowing above the calm sea and nobody would guess that the small ship was full of the Qunari; those, who had escaped the Viscount's Keep right after their Arishok took his last breath.

"Shanedan." A familiar voice interrupted the Qunari's thoughts.

"Shanedan, Hawke." Sten slowly turned around to face the newcomers. "I assume you come to say goodbye and never come back." Samael blinked after this statement because he had no idea if the Qunari was serious or if that was an attempt for sarcasm.

"I need to speak with you." Hawke shot a glance behind him at the silent boy trembling in the early morning chill, at the little horse who seemed sleepy, and finally at the big dark motionless bag on the horse's back. Hein nodded like he would be vigilant and wait while Hawke was supposed to talk to the Sten. The two of them then stepped aside and Hein could only watch the ardent conversation and he wriggled several times under Sten's scrutiny when the Qunari glanced at him in suspicion.

"So? Do we have a deal?" Hawke asked a question as they both approached the lad again. Samael was fidgeting, nervous, and he really didn't know why he even bothered to do this.

"Yes, basalit-an. As long as you honor this deal. Is that her?" Sten made three steps towards the black bag straddling the horse.

"Yes. She's yours now." Samael nodded and pulled the bag with Petrice off the horse, so it thudded on the ground. "What do you intend to do with her?" he asked, curious.

"She will submit to the Qun and the Ben Hassrath. More than that I will not say." Sten grabbed the bag and dragged it across a gangway leading to a ship. He then returned with yet another bag which he dropped carelessly to Hawke's feet. "Panahedan, Hawke." Sten reached his brawny arm with the red paint residue towards the assassin. "Perhaps we'll meet again one day."

"Oh, allow me to doubt that assumption." Hawke clasped the giant's forearm and granted him an insecure grin. Sten disappeared in the ship, the Qunari pulled up an anchor and the ship moved, flying through the mist and dark waters like a ghost. Hein made a hesitant step by Hawke's side and they watched the ship dissipating on the nebulous horizon.

"Who are you? What is going on?" A choked voice asked from beneath a black fabric that coiled around Isabela's head tightly. Hein saw the annihilating gaze Hawke gave her when she drew his attention towards her and the lad was indeed grateful that fierce gaze wasn't meant for him. When it was clear Samael wouldn't touch the woman or even approach her, the boy did it and uncovered her head slowly.

"H-Hawke?" Isabela whispered in disbelief like this was the last person she wanted to see right now.

"Listen to me carefully, Bela." Samael set his jaw and started orbiting her kneeling figure. "After this night—" the assassin's hushed voice cracked. "After this night, I don't know you anymore. I don't see you anymore. I don't hear you anymore. I'm done with you." Samael himself was contemplating what he had just said and yes, that was definitely everything he wanted to say to her. Nothing more, nothing less.

"Oh, come on, Hawke. There's no need to be such dramatic. Why don't you admit you've made some mistakes too, accept my apology and then forget all about it?" Isabela tried to free her hands that were still bound behind her back. She tried really hard to sound cheerful, but she failed big time. It was like Hawke didn't hear her anyway, since he sauntered to the little horse and made a step out of his hands, so the young boy could mount the little horse without difficulties.

"Hawke?" Isabela asked in a small voice into the silence, her voice trembling. "Hawke!" she shouted, when Samael turned around, grabbed the reins and walked away, leaving her there bound and helpless in the early morning chill. "HAAAWKE!" Isabela's desperate screams pierced the misty air and echoed in Samael's ears.

"Did you hear anything, my pet?" Hawke asked casually, glancing at the boy riding the horse by his side.

"I didn't hear a thing, Master." With an innocent grin, Hein shook his head vigourously, drawing a faint smile from Hawke. Samael felt, that somehow everything was going to be all right.

Somehow.

Someday.


	26. Epilogue

"You too?"

"Yes. Me too."

"And you, elf?"

"I'm here, am I not? Of course me too." Fenris growled in reply and glared at the dwarf.

"So our dear leader has honored us all with a short note to come here while he has no intentions to show up or what?" Varric started pacing through the moist sand and swore loudly when it started getting into his boots.

"Anders is coming, I think." Aveline interrupted Varric's a bit comic jumping to get rid of the sand, while the mage was striding towards them.

"Ah," Anders inhaled deeply of the fresh salty breeze, "I'd almost forgotten not everything smells like Darktown shit." He approached the group and nodded at his friends. They noticed he looked much better than they had seen him last time. The shards of his old charm were still alive under his usually sullen mask and he even looked like in a very good mood.

Nobody laughed at Anders' little joke though. Aveline reached her hand holding the note from Hawke towards the mage with a mute question if he got the same message which was obvious anyway since he was there.

"What's Hawke up to this time, huh?" Anders shot a quick glance at Fenris, but judging by his morose expression he wasn't any wiser here than the rest of them.

"I don't know, but I worry." Aveline searched the faces around her, but none gave her answers for what was bothering her. "I mean, ever since Merrill left —" she fell silent when Fenris scowled at her after she had said Merrill's name and stomped away from them, facing the calm sea. "Ever since Merrill left him, there's been something… off… about him." Aveline continued with stubbornness, but her narrowed eyes were now jabbed into the broody elf's back. "He doesn't talk about returning to Fereldan anymore, he's neglecting his lyrium business, and he barely talks to anyone for that matter. And then there's that lad, what was his name, who is he? Hawke doesn't let anyone near him and suddenly he picks up stray children from the street and lets them live literally ten feet away from him at his own estate?" Aveline's voice was becoming louder and more outraged with her every word. "I don't buy that," she snorted. "Something is going on." Aveline sauntered by Fenris' side, but the question froze in her throat when she spotted his set jaw and glassy eyes, telling her Samael seized talking even to his closest friend.

"Any news about Isabela?" Varric interrupted the silence and walked by Fenris' other side. He had to admit the Wounded Coast looked almost magical today. The darkening sky was clear which was unusual for early autumn; the sea was ploughed by brittle waves with white crests and it looked like it would devour the crimson sun hanging above the horizon at any minute. The first stars were peering at them on east where the sky was colored into indigo shades, while the last sun rays were illuminating the ragged rocks on the coast. They were all so captured by the scene in front of them that they completely ignored Varric's question. Aveline was the first to wake up though.

"I assume the Qunari have her. What they will do with her…" she sighed and shook her head. "I can understand Hawke felt betrayed and hurt after what she's done, but I do not approve of the way Samael got rid of her." Aveline glanced at her friends, but nobody looked at her. "I mean, she was and still is just a filthy pirate wench, but somehow our filthy pirate wench, right?" Captain fell silent when nobody reacted at her thoughts.

"I can't believe he simply handed her over to those horn-heads either." Anders strolled to them and so they all stood there on the shore in silence, watching the sun sinking into the dark red waters.

"Do you hear that?" Fenris twitched and glanced behind him with a hand on the hilt of his greatsword. The rest of them glanced at each other in confusion, but after a minute there were no doubts something was approaching them. They all waited breathless, listening to the odd creaking and clattering which was growing stronger.

A ghostly horse-drawn black carriage materialized from the evening shadows and stopped right in front of the astounded companions. Their astonishment only grew when they recognized the coachman – nobody but Ichabod Bane, shrouded in a dark green cloak and with a proper sneer on his lips. Yet another open wagon jolted through the sand, drawn by Hawke's little horse which was led by the skinny boy who stopped the horse abruptly and stared wordlessly at the companions who stared back.

"What's this? You look like you are at a _funeral_, friends." A quiet sarcastic voice pierced the uncomfortable silence and only now they finally saw Hawke leaning on the carriage with his arms folded on chest and his legs crossed.

"Hawke!" they blurted at once and surrounded him, but nobody dared touch him. He looked oddly at ease considering he had brought his dead Qunari friend's body here for a proper pyre. Yet there was a strained smile on his face while his eyes were cold and almost black. "I need a hand with this, if you don't mind." Again, Hawke's voice sounded casual, although he was referring to a slender boat with the dead warrior which had been carefully attached on the wagon.

"Of course." Aveline confirmed for all their willingness to help. "But that's —" she whispered when she marched right to the boat and saw what was inside. Who was inside. She coughed in uneasiness, but she got a hold of herself in no time and started orbiting the boat to learn how to pull it down without disturbing the sleeping Qunari leader inside of it. Samael pretended he wasn't aware of their stealthy glances and nervous whispering behind his back as he strolled to the silent boy who was watching him with a badly hidden devotion. Only a nod was needed for Hein to disappear in the carriage and when he re-emerged, he dragged the Arishok's weapons with him. Hawke took them from the lad and slowly walked towards the boat which was ready at the shoreline and the waves were crushing at it, turning into white puffy foam.

Samael weighed the weapons in his hands before he laid them carefully down into the boat so that they were covering the Arishok's feet. He then stared in silence at the fallen Qunari, as though he couldn't force himself to stoop and push the boat on the open sea.

"Samael…?" A hesitant hand squeezed gently Hawke's shoulder and he jerked although he recognized well Fenris' hand and his velvet voice. "You do know the Qunari don't bury their dead, right?" The elf asked quietly and pulled his hand back since Hawke was clearly uncomfortable about the elf touching him.

"Yes, yes. I do know that. They consider their dead bodies as nothing but some flashy bags not worthy of noticing or some special treatment." Hawke replied with a tired voice, massaging his temples.

"And yet you…" Fenris' thoughtful voice trailed off as he took one step towards the assassin.

"Yes. Yet I want to give him a proper pyre, Fenris. Do you have a problem with that?" Samael lashed out at the elf who just gave him a wry shake of his head in return. Yes, Hawke was doing it again. Irritated by tiny things, insecure, secretive and hostile even to his most faithful friend and occasional lover. Maybe it was this innocent attempt to talk to Hawke which made Samael to bend over finally and push the boat with all his strength on the free sea. It cruised the calm surface and floated away from the shore, followed by Samael's wide open eyes.

Hein shuffled by Hawke's side with a torch in his one hand and a bow in his other hand, waiting patiently for his master to look at him. In trance and without looking elsewhere but the boat, Samael took the bow, pulled out one arrow from the quiver strapped on the lad's back and set the tip of it on fire.

When the companions came closer, they noticed Hawke's otherwise confident hands were uncontrollably shaking, so they were not surprised when the arrow wheezed through the air and disappeared in the dark blue waters with a choked sizzling.

"Uhm, Hawke," Varric chuckled nervously, "that was not even close." The meddlesome dwarf was obviously unable to spare Hawke of this little mocking observation. Hurling the bow into the sand, Samael just glared at the dwarf with such a scorching expression, Varric fell silent and looked down on his boots to search his conscience.

A lanky hand picked up the bow and dusted the moist sand off it before it reached to Hawke, so he could try again and set the boat on fire. Despite the heavy black cloak, Samael was shivering, his arms snaked around his body and his desperate eyes set at the boat. He shook his head without glancing at Hein who was still patiently waiting for the assassin to take the bow from him. But Hawke couldn't. Maker, he wasn't even able to stand straight, let alone make that stupid burning arrow land on that stupid little boat and set it on fire, so the Arishok could have a proper pyre like every great warrior should have.

"I'll do it for you then." Hein reacted at Hawke's ashen face, quivering body and his burning eyes watching the boat with vulture eagerness. The lad measured the distance between him and the boat with rather experienced eye which nobody would have expected from such a young boy. He then nocked the burning arrow and in one fluid motion Hein raised and drew the bow, aiming up into the skies.

The boy took his time before releasing the arrow and everybody watched his doing in disquiet. When he finally sent the arrow flying through the salty air, everybody gasped and waited if the arrow would find its target this time. With almost inaudible thud, the arrow landed perfectly on the boat and the wood started smoking after a minute.

Samael watched in rapture the spreading fire until it seized the whole boat, so he didn't realize his companions stepped aside a bit except for Varric, who was through the quick and ardent voting sent to talk to their leader.

"Ehm, Hawke?" he coughed and addressed the assassin to let him know they weren't about to make it easy for him and leave him alone.

"Hm?" Samael droned in reply, not taking his eyes off the boat.

"How are you?" Varric asked a simple question.

"What?" Hawke twitched and turned around to face the half-tall friend.

"You heard me, you maniac." Varric growled and stuck his chin forward. "We have no idea how you've been lately since you don't talk to us anymore."

"I'm… fine." It was Samael's turn to grumble a reply as he turned back to face the boat which was about to sink. "Really, Varric!" Hawke almost shouted when the dwarf kept staring at him in silence with his head cocked in doubt.

"Look, Hawke, we're sorry Merrill left you, but you need to get over it and —" Varric started preaching which was very unusual for him.

"Don't… say… that… name." Hawke hissed through the clenched teeth; suddenly so close to the dwarf's face their noses were almost touching. Varric, of course, wasn't surprised or even spooked by this reaction for he had anticipated it anyway.

"See what you're doing? Stop that!" he gestured towards the assassin, as though he wanted to force him to look at himself and the way he had been behaving lately. "I must say we're running out of patience with you, Hawke. We don't know what to do or what to say around you anymore, we haven't taken a job together for so long I can't even remember when we had some fun together! And we are… I am… scared shitless for you and because of you!" Hawke arched an eyebrow after this Varric's outburst, full of stammering and insecurity, which was so not like the cocky dwarf.

"I…" Hawke started explaining, but he couldn't find proper words. What should he say anyway? That he was still hurting over his lost lover? That was not the option here, was it? And what about those he had lost before? "Just… give me some time, Varric. Please. I need some time to pull myself together, that's all." Samael whispered with downcast eyes, slowly realizing, that after Merrill, Fawn, Occela, Arishok and Isabela, he was about to lose the rest of his friends as well.

Although Hawke didn't say that out loud, Varric saw on his face, that the assassin thought they were about to leave him for good. He indeed wanted to scare Hawke a bit, so he would stop feeling sorry for himself and try to live on, but this was obviously beyond the point of a little friendly push. "Hawke… Samael…" Varric patted the assassin's forearm and his voice sounded almost penitently. "We don't want to leave your side," he shook the head with a mild grin on his face.

"I didn't think —" Hawke swiftly defended his pride.

"Oh, shut up for once, you oaf!" Varric scoffed and jabbed a finger into Hawke's chest. To the dwarf's eternal amazement, Samael really remained silent. "We know Bella pissed you off royally and we decided it was your call about what to do with her. We also know you've got one tough sodding year behind you and you're entitled to behave a bit crazy. I mean even crazier than usual." Varric smirked and this time Samael gave him an insecure smile in return. "But you must know that we won't tolerate for much longer that hiding from us, not talking to us or even disappearing without a word about where you went. So, yes, that's about it." Varric coughed and glanced at the creaking boat which was about to disappear under the surface.

"I'll behave myself, mom, I promise." Samael sneered at the dwarf and his amber eyes flashed briefly with the mischievous flames which Varric hadn't seen there for a long time.

"One more thing Hawke…" Varric started fidgeting and he looked positively guilty of something, although Samael had no clue of what.

"I'm listening." Samael confirmed and waited impatiently for Varric to spit it out.

"I want you to… eeer… well, not like permanently, you know, but… how to put it…" Hawke was gaping at the rambling dwarf in utter astonishment, but he decided to be patient and wait. "You do know Bane's house has burnt to ground during the Qunari invasion, right?" Varric asked the assassin finally.

"Yes. I saw it burning." Hawke confirmed the information and watched the dwarf in poorly hidden suspicion. "Gods, I don't like where this is going, Varric!" he added after a moment of silence during which Varric kept opening and closing his mouth, wordlessly.

"I want you to accept him at your estate, Hawke. At least for a while. I promise he won't bother you or something. He even agreed to do any work you'd assign him and —"

"Are you insane?" Samael didn't even wait for the dwarf to finish his sentence. "Do you want me to live with that… that… _man_? How could… Why would…" Hawke's shocked eyes found Ichabod's silent silhouette still standing by the carriage like a statue. "Are you aware we kind of don't get along?" he almost yelled at the dwarf when Bane's milky white eyes flashed from beneath the hood and it was obvious he had been watching this conversation intently, knowing they were talking about him.

"You should show the man some respect, Hawke," Varric raised the palm to silence the resentful assassin. "If he weren't there at the Viscount's Keep —" Varric stopped talking suddenly and bit his tongue.

"What do you mean 'if he weren't there,' dwarf?" Samael demanded an explanation. "He wasn't there, am I right? He just walked in along with the Knight-Commander and the Templars, right? He… he…" Hawke's desperate voice dissipated as he started reminiscing about the dazzling light ball which had appeared right beneath his feet when the Qunari attacked him. It exploded, throwing every single enemy away from him, but it didn't harm Hawke. It saved him. He remembered well that warm feeling spreading throughout his body when he lay there, injured and enveloped by the bright light. He remembered a faintly familiar figure standing by the heavy two-wing door. And then when he collapsed at the Dumar's office, oh yes, he had heard voices around him. He just thought they were inside of his head; not real. And then, when he woke up, Ichabod was there, looking as wrecked as hell, although he claimed to get there just a minute ago. Something had happened, now it made perfect sense to Samael. Something they had been keeping away from him.

"Varric?" Hawke addressed quietly the wriggling dwarf.

"Look, Hawke. You don't know something about Ichabod Bane. I swore I wouldn't say anything to you and I shall live up to that promise. I assure you, that you can trust this man and it should be enough for you to help him and accommodate him since he has no place to stay right now." Varric dared looking into Hawke's face and to his relief Samael was indeed contemplating his words with his eyebrows knitting. "Hawke?" Varric couldn't bear the long silence during which Samael didn't speak.

"All right, Varric," the assassin grumbled finally and glanced at the still motionless Bane. "I'm spending a week in my room at the Hanged Man, because Bodahn, the servants and the builders are going to work on my estate, which was damaged. So keep your friend somewhere for a week and then he can come to me and I will take care of him." Hawke was chewing on his lower lip after he had said that. "But I have no idea for how long I can tolerate him around me before I stab him for something he'd say or do, Varric." Samael frowned, but the dwarf breathed out in relief and nodded like he had understood and he would make sure Ichabod would behave himself.

"Thank you, Hawke." Varric bowed nonchalantly to the assassin and Samael started wondering why would the dwarf thank him when it was Ichabod who was about to live at Hawke estate, but Varric wasn't done yet. "And, by the Paragons, talk to the elf. One more Diamondback night with him and his drunk moaning about you and I swear I'll shoot myself!" The dwarf smirked again, but the smile didn't quite reach his eyes this time.

Samael followed the dwarf's gaze and there he was – standing tall and still, his bare feet washed by the foamy waters, and he was watching the sea, although the boat had sunk already. Samael nodded at the dwarf and slowly ambled towards the lyrium warrior, until he stood right next to him, gazing over the sea just like him. Fenris winced when he glanced at the silent assassin, then he went back to his intent staring forward in bitter silence.

"Fenris…"

"Samael…"

They started talking at the same time, looking at each other, only to go back to their silent watching the horizon again.

"Have I done something wrong?" The elf spoke when it seemed Hawke was waiting for some question.

"No," was the assassin's terse, yet gentle reply.

"Have I said something wrong?" Fenris didn't give up and took the opportunity to ask questions that were burning in his mind.

"No, Fenris." Hawke shook his head. The elf just snorted and bolted away from the taciturn assassin, but Hawke managed to catch his arm and stop him. "Don't you see, Fenris? It's me! It has always been me! I'm the damaged one! I'm the insufferable one! I should be aban —"

"And I am the one who never cared about what you say about yourself! What you think about yourself! I… I…" Fenris stammered and jerked his arm out of the assassin's grasp.

"I don't deserve that! Do you hear me?" Samael shouted and obviously he didn't care everybody else had heard that, too.

"I've listened to your yelling for years, Hawke!" the elf bawled in reply and shook the stunned rogue, so he would finally wake up and see the truth.

"I know." Samael whispered with his widened eyes piercing the elf. "I'm sorry that I'm not whom you'd like me to be," he lowered the head and closed the eyes. Black hair fell over his face and obscured it mercifully.

"Just… talk to me. That's all I ask. All I want. Don't shut me down again." If anybody else would hear those choked words, nobody would have guessed they really came out of the proud and always cynical elf's mouth.

Samael's throat constricted when he realized the self-confident lyrium warrior, who wasn't scared of the army of slavers hunting him, of the dragons or any other beast they had ever encountered together, was standing right in front of him with the tears in his eyes, because he couldn't live without Hawke anymore.

"Come to me tomorrow evening to the Hanged Man. Please. Just the two of us." Samael closed the gap between them, so they stood as close to each other as it was possible without touching each other. Fenris took his time before replying. He searched carefully the assassin's expressive face, trying to figure out, just how much this was a forced invitation or if Hawke really desired his company. Samael had slightly parted lips, disheveled long black hair was waving in the mild breeze and his eyes were burning with the fire Fenris had seen there before countless times. The same fire he had in his eyes when he dashed to Fenris' mansion in the middle of night, uninvited, even unwanted several times, but persistent and savage in his need. He took the elf or Fenris took him without giving it much thought; without thinking about where these wild nights would lead them eventually.

"I have to think about it," Fenris breathed out finally, but his arms creeping beneath the Hawke's cloak were eloquent.

"Good." Samael smiled faintly down at his elf and kissed his lips lightly, as though he feared the elf would push him away. Hawke found himself completely at ease suddenly, his mind was drifting away in Fenris' arms and he wished this moment to last. Alas, they were interrupted.

"Hawke, we hear… something," Aveline marched to them and informed them, although she didn't dare looking at the still intertwined friends. Samael was sure she was blushing, grateful for the darkness around them to cover it up. Hawke let go of the elf and they both strolled towards the group loitering by the carriage.

"Sheesh, Hawke, I said go talk to him, not fuck him right here on the beach under the moon." Varric murmured only for Samael's ears and rolled the eyes. They were about to guffaw, when the mild salty breeze brought to them distant clatter of horse hooves.

"What the…" Hawke narrowed the eyes into dark fiery clefts as his hand checked on his twin blades swaying by his hip.

"Perhaps you invited somebody else to this lovely night soirée…?" Anders cracked a joke which left all of them wondering about his suspiciously good mood rather than the newcomer.

"But that's —" Aveline squeaked and sounded almost like a woman. Almost.

"Well, holy shit, I smell trouble." Varric whispered to the Guards Captain when the rider halted the horse right in front of them and jumped down. Hawke's face froze into an impenetrable mask, since it was Merrill who was standing in front of him right now. As much as it seemed impossible, Samael was even more astounded by the horse than the unexpected presence of the Keeper he still loved.

"Occela?" Hawke whispered in disbelief and the horse whickered as he heard his name. "How did you get here?" the assassin asked and approached the silver stallion. "How did you know I'm here?" Samael's expression changed since the last question was meant for the Dalish witch.

"You called me here," Merrill peeped and looked confused. She fumbled in the bag and reached her hand holding vellum towards the assassin. Samael took it, carefully avoiding her skin, and glanced around him to see how the others were reacting at Merrill.

"Meet me at the Wounded Coast by the nightfall. Hawke." Samael read out loud the short message and shook the head, since handwrite looked definitely like his own, but he certainly didn't write it. "And the horse?" he asked again, sounding calm now.

"He appeared at the camp two hours ago, with this message," she replied very quietly and seemed to be unable to look at her former lover.

"And you didn't know better than to mount the strange horse immediately and rush here just like that?" Samael continued his investigation and he didn't know if Merrill's both foolishness and devotion were pleasing him or disturbing him. "I didn't write it," Hawke crumpled the note mercilessly and dropped it into the sand, "and that's my horse," he nodded towards the snorting beast Fawn had left behind.

"I need to talk to you, Samael." Merrill mustered her courage and looked straight up into the amber eyes. Hawke averted his gaze, but shrugged at her demand and stomped a few steps away from the group.

Relatively alone, Merrill's words seemed to get stuck in her throat.

"How are you?" Samael broke the fragile silence first, searching the night sky.

"Good," she replied immediately. "Good…" Merrill added more to herself after a moment. "And you?" she asked shyly.

"Good." Samael replied with dignity.

"You said you'd come." Merrill blurted out before thinking this sentence through.

"I said I'd come _eventually_." Still oddly calm, Hawke replied along with a mild shrug.

"Hawke —" Merrill started again, but she was interrupted with his raised hand.

"Merrill, don't." He approached her and took a first thorough look at her. Her dark braided hair was longer than he remembered, he recognized Marethari's staff strapped on her back and her robes were different. Ornate with raven feathers, heavily embroidered with twining leaves and dyed in greenish and silverish shades.

Samael realized, she looked like… a Keeper. "You look beautiful." He traced her jawbone with his finger briefly then he mounted Occela before she could even start breathing again or stop him. "Varric, we are settled, I hope." Hawke's eyes wandered around him until they found the dwarf who bowed in reply. "Fenris…" Samael more like whispered that name and his short, yet intense gaze told the elf Hawke would be waiting for him tomorrow. Samael heeled the horse to move towards until now silent lad who kept watching his master during the whole evening. Samael managed to astonish everyone once again, when he granted the boy a long thoughtful gaze and reached his arm to him afterwards, so Hein could mount the stallion as well.

The lad's almond eyes glittered as he snatched the arm, swung up and nestled himself behind Hawke's broad back, while his arms snaked immediately around Hawke's stomach and chest, carefully avoiding the still hurting ribs.

With no other desire than to get out of this place, Samael spurred his lost and found horse into a gallop. Occela looked positively surprised that there was a man who was convinced he needed to be forced to run, so he decided to show them how quickly exactly he was able to reach Kirkwall gates. He reared up and bolted forward like a silver arrow, hurling small balls of sand at those whom he had left behind him.

Merrill pressed her hand on the mouth; her eyes were filling with the tears as she watched Hawke riding away from her.

"Aveline?" the Dalish elf turned to the Guards Captain who replied with a harsh glance and disappeared inside of the carriage which was supposed to take them all home. Anders shook his head when Merrill's desperate face turned to him and he mirrored Aveline. They both shared an opinion Merrill just took advantage of Hawke, sucking him dry, letting him care for her and then she left him when she got bored of him and figured it would be better to go back to her elven brethren.

"V-Varric?" Merrill sobbed when Ichabod jumped up on the carriage, taking the reins in his hands, clearly impatient to hit the road.

"I'm sorry, Daisy." Varric stroked her thin arm fondly, turned around and sprang up on the coach box of the wagon which had brought here the boat with the Arishok. He smacked the lips, the wagon moved and Ichabod's carriage moved as well.

Merrill watched them leaving with a helpless expression on her face with silent tears rolling down her cheeks as a reminder of her isolation.

oOo

Hawke stopped by the Hanged Man to let Corff know he would need his room for a week, starting from tomorrow. The young Bowbitter greeted him like a long lost brother, convincing him to stay there immediately, but Hawke excused himself, because he needed to check on his estate first and put together a list of needed repairs.

When they reached Hightown, Occela was glistening in sweat, but his head was risen up proudly, like he hadn't been running to Kirkwall at the limit of his abilities. Hein headed wordlessly for the new, never used stable in the garden to take care of the exquisite stallion and Samael went to talk to Bodahn. After a short debate they came to an understanding and Hawke looked like he would fall asleep on his feet if they should talk some more. He took a quick bath to get rid of the dust and sand and crawled to his bedroom, not even paying attention to the shards and splinters which were crunching beneath his feet. The whole mansion was still a mess.

Samael barely noticed when the boy crept to the huge bed, took off his tunic, rolled it under his head and clenched the pillow on his stomach to make his usual sleeping ball he intended to cuddle up to as always.

"It was her, wasn't it?" Hein whispered into the silence. His words almost died in the droning fire at the marble fireplace.

"Who?" Hawke mumbled, half-asleep.

"That woman. At the coast. You love her, don't you." It wasn't a question and those words sounded strange, coming from the mouth of a young lad who had no chance to understand such feelings.

"Yes," Hawke found himself oddly stultified by that question, but he didn't mind the boy asking it.

"But she left you, right?" Hein saw Hawke's sleepy willingness to talk, so he intended to ask.

"Yes." Again, a terse and honest reply from Samael.

"Do you want her back?" Hein flipped on the side and tried to pierce the darkness to see Hawke's shadowed face.

"I do." Hawke realized it was the first time he openly admitted how much he missed his little Dalish pariah. Well, pariah no more apparently.

"Does she want you back?" Hein supported himself on the elbow and his voice sounded intrigued.

"Sleep, rabbit." Hawke squirmed in the bed and tossed a blanket over the curious boy's head. He giggled, but snuggled into it obediently. Despite the weariness it took Samael an hour before he was able to convince himself to sleep.

oOo

Thin ribbons of mist were snaking right above the grey flagstones of Hightown and the early morning silence was interrupted by distant barking of stray dogs fighting over a bone.

A silhouette sneaked along the massive walls of Hawke estate, glanced around and opened casually the heavy front door with a silver key. The whole mansion was asleep as the intruder figured out when he slipped through the dark main hall and started climbing the stairs.

Samael dreamt an odd dream where one person turned into another one, sneered at him, only to turn into someone else a second later. He was looking for something in a labyrinth, then he turned around and realized he stood on a shoreline, barefooted. There were two boats floating just by him and when he peeped inside, he saw the Arishok in the left ship, and himself inside of the right one. They were both dead. His heart started racing while some slow soft tones started echoing in his head; painfully familiar tones. His eyes opened involuntarily and he remained still until he realized what had awakened him. He actually heard a lullaby. The bedroom door was wide open and Samael heard from a distance a slow melancholic tune, hurling him into memories he tried to suppress forever. Only one person could creep into Samael's house. Only one person would be able to get past the always vigilant mabari. Only one person would be able to open the bedroom door, unnoticed, perhaps walk through the darkened bedroom and look at the sleepers, only to disappear in dark again.

Hawke swung his feet over the bed edge and laced up his boots hastily. He shivered since the fire went already out and he wore nothing but linen trousers. There was no time to waste since there was somebody at his estate who demanded his full and immediate attention. Hawke grabbed the leather band with throwing knives and strapped a thin belt with a blade around his waist. His own hands snatched his attention suddenly. They looked like pale spiders in the dark and they were calm; calm and steady as ever.

As Hawke approached his mother's former quarters, the lullaby was growing louder and louder until it resounded in his ears over and over again. He wished to smash that little wooden music box painted with fading colors, to silence it forever, whatever the cost was. Samael walked in cautiously, breathless, searching the dark corners of the sumptuous mother's room. The robust heavy armchair was turned away from Hawke and… Was it smoking? Hawke crept nearer and peered into it, but the seat was empty; only the agate ashtray was set on the arm stump with still burning cigar in it. The lovely lullaby turned in Hawke's ears into persistent racket when he had spotted the cigar and he started trembling in raw rage, the rage, which had been building up inside of him for weeks.

The top of the music box was slammed close, the lullaby died away and Hawke whirled around. He didn't even finish his spin and five throwing knives were already whooshing through the darkness, only to hammer in quick staccato on the ornate door the intruder had covered himself with. For Hawke it was crystal clear about what was going on there. Mahariel came back to _thank_ to his benefactor, maybe rob the mansion or even kill all beings inside, so there would be no witnesses of his execrable deed. Samael's frantically working mind was taken aback for a second by the image of all Kirkwall criers as they shout in all four directions the whole Hawke estate was robbed blind and everybody was found dead. Samael shook his head to chase away this gruesome thought and he was already on his way to the intruder, who slipped out of his cover and disappeared under the massive Nevarran fretwork table. Only now Hawke realized he had thrown five blades, but only four were stuck in the door. Almost imperceptible sneer sprawled out on his face as he inaudibly tiptoed to the opposite corner and waited for the elf to make a mistake and reveal himself.

It was all even more horrifying since there was absolute silence in the spacious room and both rivals obviously chose a waiting game. Hawke got distracted though when he had spotted a large book lying right next to the music box and Mahariel picked this very moment to strike back. Before Samael could react, Fawn knocked him down on the shaggy carpet and they started to wrestle. It was quiet, merciless and liberating to finally have someone worthy of Hawke's vengeance, because he didn't feel better after he had given Mother Petrice to the Qunari. Actually, he felt nothing, nothing at all.

Samael sensed beneath his fingers moist fabric and he figured out Fawn's shoulder was injured during his unexpected attack. With all his strength the assassin jabbed his fingers into the wound and the elf howled in pain, letting go of him. He drew the sword, but Samael struck it down with a bare arm, slashing it on the edge though he didn't seem to care. Before he could throw himself at the arcane warrior, something happened, and later Samael could describe it like the largest wardrobe fell right on him or something very similar.

He found himself wallowing on the carpet, gasping for breath and only tiny dark corner of his mind acknowledged the elf was slowly approaching him, gloating about his powerlessness no doubt. In his blurred mind Hawke realized the arcane warrior had hit him with some powerful spell.

Fawn kicked Hawke to roll him on his stomach and straddled him nonchalantly while he checked on his wounded shoulder. Samael resolved to last attempt to shake the elf off him, but Mahariel just snorted impatiently and twisted his arms behind the back mercilessly, where he bound them with thin, yet resilient cord.

Hawke was defeated. He lay there helpless with his hands bound behind the back, the fuzzy carpet was tickling his face, his ribs were torturing him with every painful breath he took and no way he would be able to reach for the dagger attached to his belt. Judging by the odoriferous smoke filling his nostrils, Fawn had lit up a cigar to make his victory complete.

"I should not anticipate you would make it at least quick, now should I…" Hawke rasped and struggled for breath, because this simple statement weakened him even more. Still silent, Fawn slowly coiled Hawke's long hair around his wrist, so he could lift his head up and thus reveal the throat. A svelte elven blade flashed in the dark and the sensation of its coldness on Hawke's feverish skin sent shivers down his spine.

Mahariel noticed his defeated rival was holding his breath as though he couldn't wait to see his own blood spilling and coloring the salmon pink carpet.

"I came here to talk, Hawke." A velvet voice whispered into the assassin's left ear. Samael shuddered and he didn't believe that treacherous elf, even when he let go of his hair and pulled the blade off his skin.

"Sure, talk. I've heard every scoundrel calls it differently. Let's _talk_ then," Hawke scoffed, but it sounded desperate. He felt Mahariel standing up and Samael rolled immediately on his side, so he could breathe finally. The room was spinning around him when the elf pulled him up roughly and slashed the cord binding his hands.

Samael blinked a few times to clear his head again, but Fawn's calm face in front of him was more than he could bear. Not after what he had done to him. Fawn was clearly foreseeing Hawke's next step and he blocked his attack without difficulties, only to whirl him around and remind him with a blade on the throat who was in charge here.

"I said I came here to talk, you fool. And you are going to indulge me and listen. Understood?" the elf sizzled and he indeed sounded like he regretted already his decision. Hawke nodded mildly or tried to nod as much as he could with a sharp blade on his neck. After this mute agreement Fawn pushed the assassin down into an armchair, glaring at him, then he disappeared for a moment, only to come back with two full brandy snifters. Mahariel still didn't seem content with the atmosphere in the room, so he revived the fire at fireplace and finally he seated himself in the armchair opposite to Hawke.

The whole time Samael remained silent, although he watched Fawn's doing in disquiet, desperately trying to make any sense from what had happened so far. He failed big time.

"So?" Hawke coughed with uneasiness, when Mahariel kept looking at him, wordlessly. "You wanted to talk, so talk then," he shrugged like nothing Fawn might have said would make him look differently in Hawke's eyes anyway.

"First, tell me, what do you think has happened. With you and me, I mean. Ever since we've met." Fawn leaned back on his seat and reached for the snifter.

"All right, let's start with simple questions. I like that." Hawke sneered and whirled the brandy in glass which was already in his hand. "We've encountered you at the Wounded Coast, Merrill convinced me to help you, which I did, so I offered you a shelter, protection, practically whatever you needed. There were several moments and signs telling me to watch out for you, which I didn't, so I was punished for my foolishness when it turned out you had a plan from the very beginning and you succeeded. You betrayed me and disappeared. Bravo, Messere Mahariel. Well-played." Hawke took a generous gulp of brandy and he wondered from where he drew this twisted humor, but he couldn't help himself. Fawn listened to him with no expression on his chiseled face, but he set the glass back on the table without tasting the brandy.

"I want to tell you the truth." Fawn's voice was unusually gentle. "Of course, only if you are interested," he added quietly, when Samael didn't reply.

Hawke squirmed on his seat and studied the elf's serene face for a long time before he spoke again. "I want to know the truth, I do. But I want you to tell me everything. Otherwise I see no reason to continue in this conversation." Samael leaned forward and literally hypnotized Fawn's lips, waiting impatiently for his reply.

"Very well." Mahariel nodded and sipped the brandy. "As you mentioned, we have met at the Wounded Coast. I didn't plan on it and Merrill's presence there was a surprise for me as much as my presence surprised her. Yes, I came to Kirkwall with a simple intention of finding the Tome of Koslun and using it for my own good, but Merrill or you had nothing to do with it. Until you offered me an unexpected asylum in your huge mansion. You do know I lived in the Circle for years, but ever since my escape I had no bed to sleep in, no roof over my head or warm meal every evening. Against my own rules I decided to stay, at least for a while. You of course managed to disgust me immediately when you showed me your legendary Fereldan hospitality and you uncovered my missing Circle tattoo… among other things." Fawn's thoughtful voice trailed off and Hawke knew well of what he spoke of – the row of narrow scars on the elf's back. "But day by day I felt better and better in your company and I had Merrill here, so I took advantage of this precious chance to talk to one of my own people." Mahariel caught that grimace on Hawke's face when he had heard Merrill's name, but he continued his narration without mentioning it.

"Then that unfortunate attack in the Fade came and I was convinced I would have to kill you to get Merrill out of the Gallows. You astonished me when you brought her back home despite the fact she could have killed you. We had an argument about it afterwards and I believe you heard at least a part of it since you literally crawled home in the middle of it. I knew you spent the night at that lyrium freak's house, right?" Fawn crinkled his aquiline nose when he brought up Fenris. Hawke simply nodded at the question and awaited Fawn's next words impatiently.

"In those days I finally learnt where the Tome was and when I reviewed all my possibilities I realized I wouldn't be able to do it all by myself." Mahariel's distant black eyes were reflecting the flames and clearly he was lost deep in the memories.

"So that's when you started shagging Isabela, right?" Hawke gave the elf a wry grin when he remained silent.

"Yes. She was interesting enough and very useful for my plan. Not to mention she was able to… entertain me in bed. In time I even convinced her to help me to get the book just for myself. All it took was a promise that I would take care of Castillon and that we would run away together. Crazy human…" Fawn shook his head coldly and he deliberately overlooked Hawke's outraged face. "Then something happened," Fawn glared at Samael and he realized he knew well of what the elf spoke again. Their nice night stroll to the Viscount's Keep – what else.

"You were hurt. You knocked me down and the fireball hit you instead." Fawn's voice was hoarse. "For a long time I couldn't understand why would you do such a thing. For a complete stranger…" he kept murmuring, watching his svelte pale hands.

"Then you took me to Anders. I remember you telling me something about the dragons on our way to Darktown." Hawke's quiet voice continued the elf's narration.

"I felt myself slipping away from my goal and I had to admonish myself several times. It just felt so good to be around you and Merrill, that the Tome didn't seem so important anymore. I have to admit I was watching cautiously the development of your relationship with Merrill." Fawn shot a glance at Hawke who scowled and pierced the elf through with his fiery eyes. "You were fighting all the time, then you almost killed each other at that damned glade, then you became reconciled… Even I had to admit your bond seemed to be very strong and strange indeed," the elf fell silent and lit up a cigar.

"I supposed I shouldn't be surprised you were watching us that morning when I took her outside of Kirkwall to learn the truth about her drinking the blood." Hawke droned and shot a bitter glance at the smooth elf who just shrugged like it was nothing. "The Wounded Coast." Hawke simply reminded the elf of their fight with the Tal-Vashoth. He indeed decided to learn the truth about everything.

"Yes. The Wounded Coast. I'm still not proud of what I've done there, but I do insist I like to live and I wouldn't die and be put into some nameless grave just because of some grey stupid giants from Seheron." Fawn spluttered out and gulped down his snifter, annoyed by Hawke's inquisitive gaze.

"If you weren't ashamed of what you've done at the Coast, why did you run then?" Samael still wasn't content with Fawn's version. "I mean… Merrill was worried about you and your injury and you just sneaked away during the night, only to show up back home a few days later."

"And you had nothing better to do than mock me and make jokes about my wretched state!" Mahariel's eyes narrowed and his otherwise handsome face twisted into an outraged mask.

"You surprised me that night." Hawke overlooked the grimace on Fawn's face and his voice was distant suddenly. "We actually talked that night. Right after we tried to kill each other, I mean," he added, scoffing.

"You provoked me to fight you, you bastard," Fawn grunted.

"Which leads me to a question – can I see again that pretty little thingie tattooed on your chest?" The cheeky assassin grinned and he went to refill their snifters rather than look at Fawn's narked face.

"I think I'll manage to wipe that smirk out of your face once I tell you about the Qunari." Fawn observed his well-kept pale fingers with pink long fingernails and he indeed had Hawke's full attention now. "You should know that it was me who took down that missing karataam. I played with the Arishok when I crept during one starless night to his compound and hung the limbs of his brethren on the chain. I hid their torsos at the Emporium to pin this on Xenon who managed to piss me off in the past, so I thought it would be a proper revenge if I managed to make you go after him because of your precious Arishok. How that ancient charlatan managed to get rid of the corpses I will never know." Mahariel kept talking and he paid no attention whatsoever to Hawke's wide open eyes and open mouth.

"Oh, let me continue," Fawn reacted sardonically at Hawke's shocked face. "So back then I had the Qunari weakened and the Arishok stopped sending his men to look for the Tome because he was too afraid they would keep disappearing. The Chantry zealots kept the Arishok occupied even without me, so there was no need to do anything else than wait and watch." Fawn chuckled and took a sip of brandy, while Samael simply sat there, frozen.

"But you've managed to cross my plans even without knowing it, Hawke." Fawn frowned again and set his cigar into the ashtray carefully. "It was then when I realized you could have easily mar all my plans. Isabela could go talk to you. Anders knew and still knows many things about me. They could come to you and share their doubts or suspicions with you and I wasn't sure what would you do. So I —"

"Decided to get rid of me." Samael finished quietly the elf's sentence. He didn't look at Fawn though.

"Ah, I suspect you put two and two together then." Mahariel lowered the head, although at this very moment he kept watching Hawke and his reaction cautiously. It wouldn't surprise him if the rogue attacked him again.

"The Morrels." Hawke simply confirmed the obvious.

"Yes. I caught that sly woman sniffing around the estate several times and I haven't thought twice before I slashed her throat and thus connected you to her death. Merrill unfortunately got involved, but you seemed to be prone to believe her version. As soon as you walked away to hide Haydée's body I alerted her brother with a very accurate note about where he would find his sister and more importantly – where he would find her 'murderer'."

"But how did you know I'd try to hide her at the cemetery?" Hawke glared at Mahariel and it all seemed to be like a very, very bad dream.

"Do you realize that I've spent a few months with you and I learnt how you think? You humans are quite easily read after all," Fawn shrugged and smiled when he noticed Hawke's snarl. "So, Raen Morrell found you just as I planned standing above his dead sister's body, but he did disappoint me when he let you walk away, just with a hollow threat he'd come for you eventually. Coward…" Fawn sizzled.

"Coward?" Hawke thought he had heard wrong as he jumped up and clenched his fingers into fists. "He was a good man and you forced me to murder him!" Hawke shouted and hurled the snifter against the wall. Suddenly they were both standing, Hawke trembling in wrath and Fawn estimating just how much of his _truth_ Hawke would be able to absorb yet.

"You… dare… coming here, after what you've done to me? After what you've taken from me?" Samael saw the elf through a red veil and he wasn't the master of his thoughts or deeds anymore. "I had nothing without her and you knew that! Yet you simply took her and used her as a pawn for your own schemes! All that while claiming to be her friend!" Hawke's blazing eyes left no doubts about his intentions to kill the plotting elf.

"She was supposed to be a Keeper, Hawke!" Fawn made sure he said it slowly and loudly, although he felt his own anger rising inside of him. "From the day she was born she was meant to be a Keeper and nobody could have prevented it. Not even you!" he hissed and silenced Hawke's reply with a raised palm. He wasn't done with the human; not by a long shot.

"You claim you had nothing but Merrill, you hypocrite. Let's look at that peculiar 'nothing' of yours, Hawke!" Fawn laughed bitterly into the assassin's face. "You had family and I don't know nor will I judge you if it's your fault you've lost them all one by one. Your estate is one of the most beautiful and frequented places in Kirkwall and you're not without a talent since you control the lyrium trade in this area. You managed to surround yourself with loyal friends and allies who are willing to jump for you into the dragon's jaws. Does that sound like _nothing_ to you?" Fawn's legendary repose was gone just like that. Samael would swear that he saw a wave of envy flooding Mahariel's face. Like there was anything worth to be jealous about regarding Hawke's fucked up life!

Samael froze after that ardent statement. Fawn's expressive face and a desperate undertone in his voice surprised him and left him awestricken. "But —" Samael wanted to argue, yell or reason with that silly elf who dared judging him despite the fact he had said he wouldn't.

"Don't you dare telling me it's not truth what I've just said!" the elf lashed out at the assassin. "Don't you dare… not to me, who…" Fawn started panting and he rather started pacing than to face Hawke right now.

"So this is what this is all about?" Samael made sure there was pure scorn in his strident voice. "Let's pity the poor elf, who had a tough life? Lonely, miserable Fawnie?"

"Say that again and I'll kill you," Fawn's melodic voice purred into the silence that followed after Hawke's mocking.

"Oh, I doubt that, Fawn." Hawke folded his arms on bare chest. "You could have done that an hour ago. You want something from me." Hawke watched as a brief wave of surprise ran across Mahariel's face. Samael stayed motionless until the elf calmed down and realized Hawke wasn't the only one readable here.

"Remember my scars?" Fawn coughed and wriggled which was unusual for him. A nod from Samael let him know he indeed remembered.

"You said you make one scar every year when you're free from the Circle." Hawke confirmed he remembered well when Fawn remained silent. "Is that…?" Samael's eyes widened when he searched Fawn's tormented face. "Is that the reason you're here?" Hawke breathed out in disbelief. "Am I your precious chosen one who was honored to perform the deed?"

Fawn's silence and downcast eyes confirmed Hawke was right. "Unbelievable!" Samael snorted and collapsed into the armchair. Mahariel allowed him to contemplate this information, although he watched carefully as Hawke's expression was switching by seconds. Finally he stood up and approached the elf.

"What would prevent me from jabbing the knife right into your spine, hm? Don't you think I have every right to kill you? And yet you're willing to reveal yourself to me anyway and trust me I would really make only that tiny mark on your body." Hawke's voice was soft when he talked to the elf, but somehow deadly soft.

"You won't kill me." Fawn shook his head after a moment and fell silent again as though this terse sentence explained everything.

"Is that so?" Hawke leaned down and whispered right into Mahariel's pointy ear. "Care to tell me one good reason why shouldn't I?"

"Because we're the same, Samael." Fawn looked up finally and his eyes were locked with Hawke's for a long silent minute.

"Ridiculous!" The assassin staggered a step away from the elf, watching him with disapproval. But was it a flash of fear in his eyes?

"Oh really?" Fawn closed the gap between them again and pushed the assassin against the wall mercilessly. "Both stained by the choices our fathers made for us! Both hurled into situations we couldn't possibly understand or even control! Both driven out of our homes to fight a desperate battle with the world to survive! Both accompanied with a persistent feeling we don't belong anywhere! Both sentenced to sleep with a dagger under our heads because we're constantly hunted! Both burdened with titles we didn't want and chased by the fame we didn't seek! Something sounds familiar to you?"

Samael had no answer for that. Everything Fawn had said was true as much as he tried to deny it.

"Both astonishing and disturbing, right?" Mahariel stepped back from Hawke. "The more I tried to hate you, the more I was growing fond of you. You didn't let the golem to crush me at the Black Emporium; neither had you allowed the Templars to find me at your estate when they dashed in without an invitation. That was the moment when I realized… I thought…" Fawn's voice trailed off suddenly.

"You thought what?" Hawke slowly shook his head and headed for the table to finish Mahariel's drink, since he had smashed his own glass. Oh yes, he desperately needed a drink. Or ten.

"I realized I could have something I've never had before." Fawn's voice was almost inaudible and Samael cursed the droning fire for devouring Mahariel's quiet words. "A friend." Fawn shot a swift glance at Hawke who was once again speechless.

"A friend…" Samael sat heavily into his armchair. "Do you think that all your sins, all your attempts to harm me, were erased by telling me the truth?" he chuckled bitterly. "I'm afraid it works differently than that." After this indirect refusal of their possible friendship Fawn strolled to his seat, tumbled down and hid his eyes with a palm. "Why did you bring the Tome of Koslun anyway?" Hawke interrupted the silence during which Fawn remained still. "And why did you need it in the first place?"

"There's an old man in Fereldan. His name is Avernus." Fawn muttered unwillingly. "He's studied the darkspawn taint for a very long time now. A year back he claimed to reach a splendid breakthrough regarding the taint in the Warden's body —" Fawn's voice cracked.

"And he wants the Tome in exchange for whatever he figured out about the taint, right?" Hawke finished the story since that made a perfect sense to him. A distant memory peered at him, a memory regarding himself and Fawn after being attacked by the golem. "You said something the night you were injured by Xenon's oversized stone guardian," the assassin remarked cautiously and regretted it already since Fawn glared at him and clenched the teeth.

"You said something… somebody is calling you. You didn't want to go though." Hawke decided to nag the elf until he would speak again. Fawn gulped and shook his head mildly.

"It appears the taint is spreading throughout my body quicker than I thought. The nightmares started to plague my dreams again and I'm not sure for how long I would be able to resist. I must do something before… the end." Mahariel sat there and suddenly he looked very old as he contemplated his own death, though he was oddly stolid about it.

"But why would you bring the book here then? Why not simply carry it to that old man and learn what he knows about the taint?" Hawke wasn't still satisfied with the explanation.

"I thought if I get you the Tome of Koslun and give it to you…" Fawn shrugged and realized his words weren't making any sense now.

"… that I would become your friend immediately and forgive you for everything?" Samael asked and sneered because that was really pure foolishness. Mahariel stood up abruptly like he was choking in the warm and cozy room. He didn't know what to do anymore, how to behave or what to say, but Hawke obviously wasn't done with him. "Did you really think I would take from you the only thing which can grant you longer life?" he asked quietly and waited for the reply in suspense. Fawn just threw his arms sideways, opened his mouth only to shut it afterwards without a word coming out. Samael realized in awe he was once just like this; clueless. He had no idea how to get close to anyone, how to make some friends or how let somebody into his own life. He was lucky because he had people around him who cared for him and showed him how to change. Maybe this was meant to be. He was the one who was supposed to break Fawn's defense and show him he didn't have to be all alone in the world. That he could have a person who would be able to put up with his schemes and insufferable arrogance.

"Show me your back." Samael couldn't believe those hushed words really came out of his mouth.

"Wh —" Fawn twitched and searched Hawke's resolved face in front of him.

"You heard me." Samael nodded towards the bed which hadn't been used for a long time. In trance, Fawn sauntered to the bed, leaving his outer garments falling on the carpet as he made his way towards the bed. His pale back seemed to be glowing in dark as he laid himself gracefully on the bed cover, wordlessly. Samael approached the Hero of Fereldan with one of his elven blades in hand and the bed rocked when he sat down on the bed edge.

Hawke traced the tip of the blade across Fawn's revealed back and he noticed well the goose bumps appearing on the skin where the cold steel had been a moment ago. Samael figured he tormented the elf enough as he set the blade right next to the last pink scar.

"Are you ready?" Samael breathed out hoarsely as though a loud sound could ruin the fragile moment.

"Yes." Fawn's voice was muffled by the sheets, but the impatience in his voice was self-explanatory. He groaned when Hawke placed a hand on the skin and slashed through it to inflict the newest scar. That thin fresh cut looked neat and harmless until it filled with dark blood which started oozing out of the injury. Mahariel moaned again when Samael pressed a white handkerchief onto the gash and watched in rapture as the blood colored the fabric immediately. The rocking mattress told the elf Hawke stood up and went somewhere, but he didn't search for the assassin. It wasn't long before he felt Hawke near him again anyway. The assassin uncovered the slash and rubbed a healing salve on it. The cut stopped burning after a minute and the pulsing pain started fading.

"I see I couldn't have chosen a better person to do this." Fawn slowly rolled on his side to face Hawke who sat right next to him, silent. Fawn watched the taciturn human in disquiet, before he crawled out of bed and started dressing up again. Samael remained indifferent to whatever the elf was doing and he watched his intertwined fingers. The tips of them were reddish with Fawn's blood.

"I'm leaving, Hawke." Fawn shifted his weight on his other leg and observed the assassin.

"Good." Samael shrugged mildly without looking at the elf.

"I'm taking the Tome with me." Fawn remarked cautiously. It looked like he half-expected the rogue to take the precious book for himself after all.

"Good." Hawke nodded and scowled at his fingers. He rubbed them together, but the dried blood simply wouldn't disappear.

"May I… come back?" Mahariel made a hesitant step back to the bed.

"Good." Hawke was aware that this time his answer didn't make any sense, but he felt… numb. He should have killed the elf, but he couldn't.

"Samael…?" The assassin looked up at the elf who appeared right in front of him, placing the heavy Tome on the bed. Fawn had no idea how to make the human forgive him, although he knew he wanted that beyond measure.

"Why, Fawn? Why all those elaborate schemes? Why all those intricate long shot plans? Why manipulating with so many people?" Hawke's voice was becoming louder and more hysterical with his every word.

"Because… I could, Hawke. That's what I have known my whole life. That's what has been keeping me alive and sane so far." Fawn whispered his reply. "I'm sorry I borrowed Occela right after I had given him to you. He's still yours, of course." Mahariel reached for the book again, then hesitated for a second, before he leaned down and placed a long gentle peck on Hawke's sombre forehead.

"Farewell, Hawke." Fawn tried not to sound hurt because of Samael's disinterest and he rather turned around and headed for the door.

"Until we meet again, Mahariel." Fawn smiled to himself and turned around when Samael's voice stopped him, confirming indirectly he hadn't banished the elf from his life for good.

Samael blinked and the arcane warrior was gone.

oOo

The Hanged Man was crammed and it seemed the smoke-filled air could have been slashed into slices. Corff seemed to have his hands full this evening and he glanced occasionally at the painting of his father Charlie which was hung on the opposite wall.

Samael made sure his face was covered with a hood before he walked in and made his way towards the young bartender. The lad scurried right after him, looking arond with his almond eyes wide open.

"I bid you a welcome, oh mighty Champion of Kirkwall!" Corff chortled softly, making sure nobody but the newcomer would hear his words.

"Oh, shut up, Bowbitter!" Hawke lashed out at him because of the hated title. They rivaled each other before they burst out guffawing. "Is my room properly spotless, mice-less and with whiskey bottles stuffed everywhere possible?" Hawke asked, still snickering.

"Everything is taken care of. I even added a comfortable cot for your young… companion." Corff glanced at the lad who was pressed tight against Hawke's side; important to say the assassin didn't seem to mind. "If you need anything, just send me the boy with your demands and I'll take care of that. And —" Corff leaned forward and supported himself on the elbows, "if you require some lady companionship later, let me know." There was a cunning glint in Corff's eyes as he smiled broadly at his guest.

"You wound my pride, young Bowbitter," Samael granted him a cold gaze. "I hoped for more than just one lady." Hawke remained serious until Corff's face twisted into insecure mask, like he wasn't sure if he really offended the Champion or if he was just shitting him. Samael's lips twitched when he couldn't manage to stay glum anymore and Corff grinned again, gesturing upstairs where Hawke's room was.

"Thank you, Corff. You're more like Charlie than I thought." Hawke bowed to the young inn proprietor and headed for his room with Hein at his heels. A large room was clean with the fire crackling in the stone fireplace and Hawke collapsed into a huge old bed which creaked under his weight. He laughed shortly and stretched lazily while Hein started exploring the closets.

"When you're done rummaging through my stuff, run to Corff and tell him to make me fish. But ask him first if he makes them just like Charlie did. I don't want them otherwise." Samael glanced at the lad who was poking through an upper drawer and jerked when Hawke had addressed him. "If you need anything, tell him as well and tell him to put it on my tab, rabbit." Hawke's hand fumbled beneath the bed until he dragged out triumphantly a dusty whiskey bottle which had been there for Maker knows how long. Samael watched as the lad approached him with a teasing sneer on his lips, then he slowly pried the bottle out of Hawke's hand, not taking his hazel eyes off his master's face. Hein sunk his teeth into a cork and pulled it out, spitting it across the room just like Hawke.

"Tsk, tsk. I really am a bad influence on this innocent and virtuous boy." Hawke whispered loudly enough for the boy to hear that. Hein blushed before he took a generous gulp of whiskey, handing the bottle back to Hawke afterwards. When the lad disappeared, Samael started contemplating that odd expression on the boy's face; the expression covetous of Hawke's attention or even approval. He shrugged when his mind refused to make any conclusions right now and Samael closed his eyes.

oOo

Hein waited impatiently for grilled fish and Corff was aware the lad remained near the bar for a reason – he seemed to be nervous about people of all sorts around him. The young Bowbitter shooed away from the lad a few drunken scoundrels and a whore who tried to speak with him and kept an eye on him until he handed him a tray with steaming meal. Hein granted him a faint smile, obviously glad he could hide in the room again.

As the boy made his way upstairs through the crowds, his eyes set cautiously on his full tray in his hands, something had stopped him even before he heard the voice. A painfully familiar voice.

"Alejandro… Belehein… Herrera." A quiet, exotic voice slowly pronounced and laughed shortly when the lad jerked and the glasses on the tray started jingling since Hein's hands started shaking uncontrollably. "Or simply Hein to friends," the voice continued lightly, not paying attention to the lad's anxiety. Hein gulped, set the tray carefully on the stained table and collapsed on the seat opposite to a stranger who leaned backwards on his chair.

"Master Aranai…" Hein breathed out and shivered when the Crow's penetrating eyes pierced him through.

"You didn't expect us to leave you alone, now did you?" Zevran sipped his ale casually and grimaced when he realized its taste. "By the pants of the Antivan Queen…" he muttered. "What do they add to this swill?" he asked the lad with his lips twisted into a crafty sneer.

A mute shake of head from the lad made the assassin laughing. A strident, merciless sound.

"Your father owes us, young Serah Herrera." Zevran continued and suddenly there were no traces of smile on his appealing face.

"My father is dead." Hein countered and dared looking into the elf's face.

"We know that. That's why his debt fell into your hands, Alejandro." The Crow shrugged and whirled the ale in the mug.

"No." Hein simply stated his attitude; his voice sounded more bravely then he felt though. Both of them remained silent after Hein's rejection, until Aranai sighed and leaned forward on his seat.

"The Crows have been watching one small and rather peculiar house in Nevarra." The Crow fell silent like this sentence explained everything. When Hein didn't react, Aranai continued. "A woman lives there with her new husband and six children. Wait, now comes the interesting part. You've been sending this woman some gold for a while. Why, I asked many times. It turned out she is your mother, Serah Herrera. You don't want to force us to pay the poor innocent woman a visit and explain to her why… she… must… die." Zevran's voice became almost inaudible and he smirked when he noticed the horror in Hein's eyes.

"Are you telling me that you came all the way from Antiva just to threaten me and enslave me into your ranks?" Hein asked with his eyes narrowed, while his mind was frantically contemplating his possibilities.

"Ah, don't favor yourself that much, boy." Zevran's eyes glowed as he glanced around him to make sure nobody was listening to them. "A contract has been made for a certain person here in Kirkwall. Our first sent Crow failed unfortunately, which, as you know, doesn't mean, that the contract is over. Even so when the client who paid handsomely is dead, such a shame." Zevran sighed with pretended sorrow. "Such a beautiful and cruel woman she was," he added. "But as the Crows say, death happens, no?" Aranai laughed heartily. "Now comes the most interesting part." The elf's expression shifted again into curious sneer. He reminded of a cat; cat playing with a mouse. "We knew you are here for some time, hiding among the rascals of this boring city, but then you disappeared and you started to make your appearance with a very interesting and powerful person instead." Zevran stapled his fingers and watched the pale boy with interest. "What does he do with him, I wondered. Why does he go everywhere with him, I asked myself. Does he work for him? Does he… know?" Zevran's eyes flashed with deadly flames.

"Are you saying…?" Hein's eyes widened and his hands fell helplessly by his sides.

"The contract is bound in blood. It is a sacred agreement between the Crows and a dead woman from Kirkwall. She had rather poetic name - Haydée Morrell, I think. The price was paid and yet the contract remained unfinished. The offer from the guild master is clear – finish what Sven Sieggbard started and we will consider your debt as fulfilled."

"I don't know the person you're looking for." Hein's voice sounded deaf and he didn't dare looking into Crow's face after this lie. Zevran jabbed his eyes into the poor lad and said nothing. He finished his ale and stood up gracefully, sauntering right behind the sitting boy.

"You have two days to think about it before I come back for your reply. Kill the Champion of Kirkwall and I'll call my men in Nevarra back. If you refuse, well, such a shame..." Zevran purred into Hein's ear, tossed a silver on the table and disappeared in the crowd like a ghost of past.

oOo

Yet another interesting conversation took place at the Hanged Man that night, not far from Hawke.

A short stubby silhouette slipped into the last room on left, but not before it glanced around to make sure nobody was following.

Varric had to wait for his eyes to get accustomed to the darkened room, only then he realized his guest was sitting in front of a dressing table, watching his face in the mirror intently.

"I wonder why a dwarf would have something like this," Ichabod nodded towards the piece of furniture meant for the ladies, "in his bachelor room where he lives strictly alone." Bane moved on a bit and looked at Varric through the glass.

"Do you really think I live like a damned monk?" Varric chuckled and poured two glasses of red wine. "To tell the truth, your presence here is ruining my chequered social life and I do have ladies here. Well, occasionally." The dwarf strolled towards Bane and offered him the glass.

"While you were gone, that Miss Occasionally of yours was here, asking if you'd need her services tonight." Ichabod cackled and almost spilled the wine.

Varric only rolled his eyes, murmuring "I do hope you haven't scared her to death. I'm quite fond of this one…" He fell silent when Ichabod arched his eyebrow, but fortunately for the dwarf he kept his sardonic comment to himself this time.

"Varric?" Ichabod was whirling the wine in a glass and he watched it, when he spoke again. "Please, tell me again what Samael said to your suggestion about me living at his estate for a while." Bane gulped and awaited Varric's words.

"Well, as I told you, he wasn't keen about this proposal at first. He actually suggested in his own charming way I sould shove this idea up my own ass." Varric chortled, but he stopped when Ichabod glared at him. "Then I assured him you're my friend and that it would be just for some time, not forever," the dwarf shrugged. "But he… he does suspect something already, Ichabod." Varric squirmed and looked at the burning candle through the full glass to check out the wine's color.

"Did you… Did you tell him?" Ichabod asked cautiously with a panicked undertone. "About what happened at the Keep?"

"Of course not!" The aggrieved Varric defended himself. "But as I said, he ain't stupid, Ichabod. Prepare yourself for him asking many questions as soon as you move in."

Bane didn't answer, only his head lowered as he set the untouched glass of wine on the table. "Ichabod." Bane snorted after he had said his fake name. "Ichabod Bane," he laughed, but it sounded more like a growl. "Varric, say it." Ichabod straightened up again and gazed up at the dwarf. "I haven't heard it in a long time. Please say out loud my name. Just once. My real name," he pleaded with the dwarf whose face was grim now.

"Malcolm," Varric sighed. "Your name is Malcolm Hawke." The dwarf uttered almost ceremonially. Ichabod nodded and closed his eyes in anguish right after he had heard his name, as though some mysterious pain took him. He startled the dwarf when he jerked and snatched the glass of wine again; so fiercely, that a few drops stained the floor.

"I'm going to reclaim my son and everything is going to be just fine." Malcolm raised his glass with hope in his voice. "I won't stop until what's left of Hawke family is reunited again," he promised to himself and looked at Varric.

"Hopefully that beloved son of yours won't stab you during the process." Much less cheerful Varric murmured, but met Ichabod's glass with his own.

"Yes…" Ichabod sipped the wine thoughtfully. "That sounds like Samael," he glanced at the degusting dwarf. "That indeed sounds like my son."

_END_


End file.
